


Just Like Fire

by Katranga



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gallows Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mage Abuse and Oppression, Suicidal Thoughts, Templars being dicks, The Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katranga/pseuds/Katranga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Fenris' skin was branded with lyrium and he used the Fade's power to crush men's hearts, that didn't make him a mage. But Templars rarely saw reason, and Fenris never got that lucky. Wrongly imprisoned in the Kirkwall Circle, Fenris meets Hawke, a mage with fire on her tongue.<br/>A story of grudging friendship and overcoming past prejudices. A daring tale of escape with no mercy for those who wronged them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go! This fic came about because, really, Fenris' power looks a lot like magic, and Templars definitely would have taken notice. If you're aware of a specific canon reason why Fenris would never accidentally be put in the Circle, please ignore it, because I already have this whole fic written, so it's going up whether it's plausible or not.  
> Secondly, I just want to state right here that Fenris doesn't abuse Hawke at all, in case the tags were a cause for concern. And I'll make sure to note which chapter contains the non-explicit sexual abuse so no one's caught off guard. If you have any questions about it, don't hesitate to ask me! Either here or on my tumblr, [katranga.](http://katranga.tumblr.com)  
> Finally, though the story content is on the heavy side, keeping the humour was a main concern of mine, because I cannot write doom and gloom for 30k words. So I hope that works out.

_I've never known a world outside these walls_  
_I've heard the stories, stories that call_  
_And they keep me up, thoughts of living free_  
_I'll stand up there on my own two feet_  
_(Won't knock me down)_    
Knock Me Down – Youngblood Hawke

 

“Apostate!”

Fenris whipped his head around, searching for the mage that the nearby Templar spotted.

“There! The glowing one!”

Fenris pulled his hand out of a dead man’s chest and rounded on the Templar. “What? I am no mage.”

“That sure as hell looks like magic, elf!” He aimed a hand at Fenris.

His tattoos burned like lightning. Agony sizzled across them as if they were being torn from his flesh.

“I am no-” he gritted out as the Templar drew closer, heavy footfalls drowned out by the blood pulsing in his ears.

“Take him to the Circle.” The bored order lit Fenris with outrage. He lunged at the Templar, but he knocked Fenris the ground. His tattoos flared and excruciating pain came with them. He blacked out.

 --

Fenris awoke in a cell, skin tender as if roasted by fire, but as soon as he rose his tattoos glowed, with none of the pain of last time. He grabbed the cell bars and scoped out the dimly lit room. Two more empty cells across from him. A Templar leaned against the wall near the only door, absentmindedly shining his sword.

“I am not a mage.” Fenris was down to his tunic and breeches. His armour stripped and sword stolen. Indignation filled him but beneath it was the steady thrum of paralyzing fear. He would not be trapped again, and _certainly_ not in the Circle.

The Templar looked up, quirking a brow. “What’re those, lyrium tattoos?” He whistled. “That’s some fancy magic, mage.”

“You use lyrium. You perform magic. Are you a mage?”

The Templar straightened. “I work for the Maker. Quiet now. Rest for your Harrowing.”

What tools did Fenris have at his disposal? Reason? Truth? Useless. He had to escape.

His hands phased through the bars, followed by his head and shoulders.

“Whoa!” the Templar rushed over, sword in the hand that wasn’t aimed at Fenris.

Again came the agony of the lyrium in his tattoos reacting to the Templar’s magic-blocking powers. Fenris gritted his teeth to power through but the Templar came on stronger.

His tattoos dulled. The cell bars shattered around him as he solidified.

“Not a mage, my ass,” the Templar scoffed as the pommel of his sword came down on the base of Fenris’ skull.

 --

In the end, Fenris agreed to the Harrowing over being made Tranquil. He did not know how the tranquil magic would affect him since he wasn’t a bloody mage, but he refused to find out. He’d been a slave moulded by the hands that owned him before. Never again.

He thought drinking lyrium might at least kill him. But it bonded with the tattoos and ripped him in the Fade.

It was hazy and nightmarish and the demon who faced him recognized instantly that he was not a mage. Of course it still tried to possess him. Of course he did not let it.

His was a quick Harrowing.

“Good job,” a Templar said dispassionately. Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford. He’d been the one to force the lyrium down his throat five minutes ago. Blonde. Tall. Maybe that was just the angle.

He grabbed Fenris’ arm and hauled him off the floor. Fenris immediately swayed, still groggy and sick from the lyrium, and stumbled into Cullen’s chest.

“C’mon, enough mucking about.”

He meant to sneer sorry, that since he wasn’t a mage, force-feeding him lyrium was bound to have ill-effects.

Instead he vomited down Cullen’s armour.

He shoved him into a chair with a grunt of disgust.

“Here’s a towel, boss.”

Fenris pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets in an attempt to make the room stop spinning. Templars moved around him, talked as if he wasn’t there, as if he was a sick Mabari they were in charge of.

He heard somebody mention a phylactery.

“No,” he mumbled into his hands. He’d never be able to escape if they took his blood, to track and control him.

“Already done,” Cullen said. “Just get him in a robe and take him to his room.”

Shock rang truer than anger, even sharper than fear. The Ferelden Circles had always been a horror story for the magisters in Tevinter. Danarius would threaten to send those who did not obey him across the land, to be treated like common criminals, like animals.

Fenris had never feared Danarius’ speeches because he wasn’t _a fucking mage_.

But how was he supposed to prove his innocence now that he’d succeeded in the Harrowing? He’d apparently proved his magical willpower, when all he proved was that he had the common sense to turn down a demonic possession.

“Listen, _listen_ ,” he said, still out of it but at least able to walk. He’d been shoved into a beige mage robe and now was being led up a tight spiral staircase. To his room in the Circle. Where mages lived. “I am not a fucking mage.”

The Templar holding his elbow scoffed as he dragged Fenris down a narrow hall lined with doors. “ _Listen_ ,” he said mockingly. “If you weren’t a mage before, you are now.” He came to a stop at a door that was identical to all the others and tossed Fenris inside. “Welcome to the Circle.”

The door fell closed and white-hot rage welled in Fenris. He tore at the robe that scratched his tattoos like thorns, marked him as something he was not, a being he had always hated.

“I. Am. Not. A. Mage,” he cried as he ripped the cloth from him skin. He stood naked, glowing, his breath a harsh pant leaving his throat.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view-” A voice from behind him. He wheeled to find a woman—a mage—on a plain wooden bed with a book in her hands. Her hollowed out eyes made her inexplicable smile all the more unsettling. “But that might be a bit _too_ tempting for the Templars.”

“Who the hell are you?” he snarled.

She spread her arms. “I’m your roommate, buddy.”

“They’d place me with a woman?”

She started laughing, head tilted against the wall behind her, shoulders shaking. “Woman, man, other. We’re all mages to them. We’re not human.”

“I am no mage,” he hissed again.

“And you’re not human either, so let me rephrase.” She closed the book and set it next to her on the lumpy mattress. “We are not human in the way that dragons are not human. We are terrifying beings that need to be controlled.” She said it with a sneer so disgusted that Fenris almost felt guilty for agreeing with the sentiment.

She reached over the end of her bed and flung something she grabbed off a table at him.

He leapt back. A robe, identical to the one he’d just torn off, slid off his chest to the floor.

The woman went back to her book.

Fenris glared at her for another minute, waiting for her to do something else.

She lifted an eyebrow over her book. “I mean it about covering up, elf. Templars have developed a taste for vulnerable dragons.”

He swiped the robe off the floor and grudgingly tugged it on. At least he put it on himself this time, instead of being dressed like an infant by the Templars.

He sank onto the bed opposite the mage, barely five feet away. Between them was one wooden night stand with an oil lamp, and a low table at the end of each bed for storage. That was it. Plus the splinter-ridden door and a thin window that he wouldn’t get more than an arm through. Unless he phased right through the wall. What floor was he on? Would he die or just injure himself?

“The name’s Hawke.”

Fenris didn’t respond, so she repeated her introduction louder.

To keep her from screaming her own name, Fenris said, “I heard you.”

“So you plan to be melodramatic, rude _and_ mysterious? I hope that works for you, Big Dick.”

Fenris squawked. “Excuse me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s because you’re being a huge dick to me, your kind roommate who just bestowed upon you one of my most prized possessions.”

There was a pile of identical folded robes on her table, but he elected not to be drawn into a conversation. He sat rigidly on the bed, staring at the grey brick wall in front of him, and willed the throbbing at his temples to fade.

He hadn’t succeeded when the mage said, “Okay, well I’ll have to tell everyone who asks that my new roommate’s name is Big Dick. And let me tell you, that name will stick. For life.”

“I will _not_ be here for life,” he vowed through gritted teeth.

He could feel her eyes on the side of his face.

“Well,” she admitted, lifting a shoulder. “You could always make it a short life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to begin with! I'm gonna post the second chapter today too, just to get the ball rolling, but then it'll be about a chapter a day!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, I wonder what it's like to_  
>  _Be the type who doesn't burn_  
>  _Yeah the kind who fights the good fight,_  
>  _Not the kind you find fisti-fucking-cuffing in the dirt_  
>  Dread in My Heart – Mother Mother

Fenris spent the next few days stagnant on his bed, recovering from what easily could’ve been either lyrium poisoning or a concussion. He mentally rifled through his limited means of escape, though a distant hope hung at the back of his thoughts- that a Templar would pop into the room, smacking himself on the head, saying that of course Fenris wasn’t a mage, what were they thinking? And kindly escort Fenris back to the street.

Yeah, Fenris was _fairly_ certain he was recovering from a concussion.

 When it became clear to him that he would not be released through any official channels, and when just standing didn’t dizzy him any longer, he took a look around. Checking for cracks in security, an easy way out. But he was on the second floor, and the stairwell door was guarded by two Templars. The windows, like the one in his room, were a slit meant for archers to shoot through. The tower had originally been a prison, and it still felt like it.

He was trapped, bottled up with dozens of mages. The knowledge that their magic was restricted barely lightened the tension holding his shoulders tight. The Templars were a double-edged sword: they would kill any abominations in a second, but they were Fenris’ jailers as well.

He was walking around aimlessly, not sure what rooms he was allowed to enter. Anxiety crept up his chest. If he was caught breaking rules he wasn’t even aware of, he’d still be punished. Slave in Tevinter, mage in the Circle. It was the same. He grew more frustrated with each uncertain step he took. He was not a slave, he was not a mage. He should not be imprisoned and he sure as fuck should not be at the mercy of Templars.

He passed a wide arched doorway. Dusty tomes lined the walls on rickety shelves, going on farther than his vantage point allowed him to see. The library. It was the biggest room he’d seen so far.

His roommate had her feet propped on a table, mouth pulled into a frown as she read a book.

He quickened his step.

He was too late.

“Hey, Big Dick!” She tossed her book onto the table and followed him into the hall. “You can walk! I was starting to worry. Where’re you headed?”

He grunted.

“You need a tour?”

The realization that he very much needed direction only grated further on his nerves. “Yes.”

She smiled, mouth a little too wide to be pleasant. She waved for him to follow her. “Alright! Well, you saw the library, the hub of Circle life. I’ll show you the parlour, the balcony, and then the kitchens, which we’re not allowed in, and the stairs leading to the main floor, which we’re not allowed in, and-”

“Where are the phylacteries kept?” All potential escape attempts would be rendered moot if they still had his blood to track him. He couldn’t consider leaving until he had a plan to steal his blood back.

“Far as I can tell, in the basement behind a fuck ton of wards. Which, obviously, we are not allowed in.”

“Ward?” he repeated, unfamiliar with the word in the context.

She looked at him askance. “Defense wards? Glowy magic lines on the ground for protection?”

“Oh.” He scowled. Magic, of course.

“Why the interest?” She lifted a brow. “Planning a daring escape?”

“No.”

She winked exaggeratedly wide. “Yeah, me neither.”

He sneered. “Do not wink at me, mage.”

She ground to a halt. With a sigh, Fenris stopped with her. Her unnervingly bright disposition melted away as she stared at him for an undue amount of time.

“Or what?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Then she headed straight back to the library.

“What about the tour?”

“I fear your head is too far up your ass for you to see anything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She spun around with an air of annoyed exasperation. “It means that mages-” She stopped, swiping a hand through her hair. “Either you’re not a mage and you hate us, or you are a mage and you hate yourself and everybody here. Either way, you’re not worth my time.”

He scoffed. “Because your time is so precious here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Lifted a hand awash in a warm glow and flicked her fingers at him.

He stumbled backward, reaching for a sword that hadn’t been strapped to his back for days.

A single fiery ember bounced off his chest, smoking his robe. He patted it down in a frenzy. She was smirking at him when he finally looked back up.

Fury clawed at his throat. He crossed the hall in a flash.

“Yeah, nice trick,” she said, unaffected as he shoved her into a wall. “You glow in the dark?”

Fenris sunk his hand into her chest. Her heart sped to a gallop as her sunken eyes widened. He wouldn’t kill her. That would get him in too much trouble. He only wanted to draw out her fear, to make her _shut up_.

The next thing he knew he was flying away from her. His head cracked off the opposite wall. He slid to the floor. He glared up at Hawke, skull pounding.

She had both hands aimed at him, watching him with all the apprehension of an approaching wolf.

Before either could make another move, Templars spilled from the library to restrain them.

\--

Two Templars gripped his forearms tightly, though Fenris didn’t resist their hold. Fighting with a fellow prisoner was one thing. Fighting a guard could get him killed, and he wasn’t that desperate yet.

The Templars led him down the spiral staircase he’d come up on his first day, and he immediately lost sight of Hawke. Hawke, too volatile for her own good. Too powerful for _his_ good.

How was he supposed to share a room with someone who could kill him with a thought?

Though, as he descended lower and lower into the tower, he doubted he’d see that room again any time soon.

He’d thought he was being taken back to the cell room on the main floor, but the Templars kept marching him down the stairs until the air grew cool and dank. The floor under his feet was cracked when he left the stairwell. The ceiling was low and crawling with cobwebs. The only light come from sparse torchles jutting from the walls.

The basement. Where Hawke claimed the phylacteries were.

He kept an eye out, but there were few doors in the short hall and he was led through the very first one they passed.

It looked like another cell room, but they weren’t barred, they were solid. Just a flat stretch of brick with heavy, bolted doors. Pounding and muffled shrieks sounded from a few.

Fenris froze, but the Templars dragged him along and shoved him into a small, grimy room with no bed, only a chamber pot which reeked of spoiled piss.

He wheeled, but the door was already creaking closed. “Hey, how long- Hey!”

The door slammed shut. He banged on it with his fist. Were they planning on ever letting him out again? Or was he to die in here? It _smelled_ like rot, like corpses had festered until they became skeletons. Forgotten as punishment. But he couldn’t be killed for getting into a little scuffle, could he?

If he was meant to die in this cell, he’d phase through the door. At least get killed trying to escape, instead of a slow death of wasting away to nothing.

Finally, the hatch covering the small window in the door opened.

“Settle down.” A Templar’s face was framed in the barred window. Fenris had no idea if he’d been one of the guards who’d escorted him down here. They all mixed together in a mess of oppression. “You’re supposed to be silently reflecting in your isolation.”

“How long am I to be in here?”

He shrugged, armour clanking. “Depends on how long you keep trying to smash the door down.”

Another Templar called for him and he walked away without paying Fenris any more heed. He didn’t even close the hatch over the window before he left.

Fenris spent the next few hours angrily doing crunches, though he knew he should conserve his energy. He didn’t know when he’d get his next meal. But he couldn’t just sit there, lay on the grimy ground and accept his fate. At the very least, his exercise could force him into an exhausted slumber to pass the time faster. He certainly didn’t want to be conscious any longer than he had to be in this disgusting closet.

He wasn’t anywhere near sleep when he heard a voice.

“I expected better from you, Hawke.” Fenris jumped up to peer through the barred window. At the door next to his, a Templar spoke quietly. Fenris recognized this one—Knight-Captain Cullen. Coiled blonde hair and heavy eye bags that matched his ill-tended scruff.

Fenris couldn’t see her, but it must have been his roommate who laughed in response. “You should know by now that I don’t meet expectations. And I don’t know what you wanted me to do with that elf. What is he? He’s not a mage.”

“He uses magic.”

“So do you.”

Fenris’ lip curled in disgust that he and Hawke used the same argument.

“You’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Cullen continued as if Hawke hadn’t spoken.

“Isn’t being stuck in the blighted Circle punishment enough, now I have to worry that my roommate will tear my heart out in my sleep?”

He offered no sympathy. “That’s why you’ve both been given two weeks to cool off.”

“No.” Her voice dipped from cross to pleading. Her long fingers curled around the window bars. “Varric’s supposed to visit in a few days.”

“And you should count yourself lucky that your visiting privileges will be reinstated upon your release,” Cullen said. “I can only make so many concessions for you-”

“And I’m so grateful,” she cried, very clearly not. “How can I ever repay you, Cullen? You’re so good to me-”

The Knight-Captain slammed the hatch shut with a grimace. Hawke continued shouting, too muffled behind the metal to distinguish specific words.

Fenris backed away from the window as the Knight-Captain walked past. He saw Fenris’ window was still open and shut it without a glance at Fenris.

\--

The time alone forced Fenris to reflect. He could not let his fury rule him, burn him up from the inside out and destroy anyone who got too close. That would only lead to more days wasted without so much as a map of the building. He must calm himself, let the anger simmer far below the surface and act in the manner expected of him.

Just as he’d done with Danarius.

He could not be himself in this Circle, fueled by impotent outrage. He must let go of the multiple injustices. The accusation of being a mage, punished for being something he despised. Locked up with mages, forced to share a room with one. He had to forget all that and focus on a way out. He’d escaped Danarius’ clutches; breaking out of the Circle couldn’t be any more difficult.

And if there was no way to leave, then he’d work on a more permanent means of ending his misery, because one way or another he would not spend decades longer under lock and key.

With a forcibly calmer outlook, he was escorted back to his room after two weeks of nothing but meals that were probably spat on to break the teeth-grinding monotony of his days.

“No more of that glowing stuff,” the Templar ordered. “That happens again, you end up right back here. Too many instances… might have to make you Tranquil. Or we’ll skip the trouble and just kill you.”

The latter was not the terrifying threat he’d intended.

After two weeks in a cell not wide enough to lie down in, his original bedroom seemed luxurious. Though Hawke ruined the illusion.

She stared at Fenris after the Templar dropped him, her hair shiny with grease and face somehow gaunter than two weeks ago.

“Fenris,” he said. “My name is Fenris.”

She crossed her arms. “Big Dick is more appropriate.”

“Would you accept a truce?” It was the only way either of them would be able to share the same space without going for each other’s throats.

She lifted a brow. “Does it include an apology?”

“It includes a mutual promise not to do it again.”

“Do you keep your promises?”

“I will keep this one.”

She spent another minute looking him over. “Well, this should be better than forced insomnia.” She held out a hand. “No trying to kill each other.”

He eyed it suspiciously. Offering to take his hand was awfully trusting when the last thing he’d done with it was stick it in her chest.

She waved her hand back and forth insistently. “A truce needs a little bit of faith, doesn’t it? Or else what’s the point?”

Fenris reluctantly put his hand against hers and shook it once, firmly.

She smiled again. The way her lips stretched over her teeth was still unnerving. “I can do that tour now, if you want. It’ll start with the baths though, because Maker knows I need soap.”

Fenris did as well, so he followed without complaint.

Several buckets sat on the tiled floor, filled with murky water. Thin yellowed curtains offered insufficient privacy against the Templars standing guard inside.

Hawke noticed his hesitation. In her blasé way of speaking on topics that merited much more solemnity, she said, “To stop us from drowning ourselves, as far I can tell.”

A Templar leered at her. “Missed ya, Champ.”

She pulled a curtain shut behind her. “Go fuck yourself.”

The Templar smirked, apparently satisfied with her response. When Fenris remained hovering in the doorway, he jutted his chin at him. “You waiting for an invitation, elf?”

He picked a bucket of dirty water at random and closed the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How're we liking it so far? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All you have is your fire_  
>  _And the place you need to reach_  
>  _Don't you ever tame your demons_  
>  _But always keep 'em on a leash_  
>  Arsonist's Lullabye - Hozier

Weeks passed in vaguely companionable silence. No, silence wasn’t the right word. Not where Hawke was concerned. One-sided conversations was a better descriptor. Despite their truce, Fenris did not entirely trust his roommate to not throw another fit, especially since most of his thoughts circled around his distaste for mages. So he decided that silence was safer than speaking.

Hawke didn’t seem to mind. She took his short prompts for information on the Circle and ran with it, pulling every last piece of knowledge out of her head and into the open.

Nothing she said made Fenris any more optimistic about his chances of escaping, so he was almost grateful when her relevant information eventually came to an end. Of course that didn’t stop her from talking just for the fun of it. Nothing, it seemed, would stop Hawke from talking.

Fenris joined her in the library sometimes, because there wasn’t much else to occupy his time with, and he could only spend so much time brooding in his room. She’d set books in front of him on the history of the Circle, or the Chantry, or Kirkwall, for background info. He pretended to read them. He stared blankly at letters he couldn’t make sense of and flip a page precisely five seconds after Hawke turned to a new page in whatever book she was reading.

During one of these mercifully silent reading sessions, she started chuckling. She was hunkered over a thick tome, the contents of which looked as dry as the dust coating it. Maybe she wasn’t laughing. Maybe she was coughing. Choking, perhaps.

He certainly didn’t want to be blamed if Hawke died right in front of him.

“Is that an ancient joke book?” he asked.

“It’s the Chant of Light.”

He wasn’t well-versed in human religion, but he was fairly sure that was a religious text. He waited for her to indicate that she’d made a joke. When she didn’t, he said, “So are you choking?”

“No, Big Dick, I’ve been laughing.” Their truce hadn’t included her referring to Fenris by his proper name. When he’d complained, she’d offered to let him create a nickname for her. He had not accepted. “You’ve heard of it, right? Laughter?”

His lips twisted sourly. “I wasn’t aware your humans’ religious scriptures were so entertaining.”

Hawke shifted her chair closer to the filthy armchair he was lounging on, a glint in her eye. “No, it’s a game I used to play with my sister. We’d replace a common word, like heart or priest, with a much funnier word, like tit or nug.”

Fenris blinked at her.

“Okay, it’s funnier if someone sings it instead of just reading. Here.” She flipped hastily through her book.

“That’s not necessary-”

Hawke cleared her throat and sang loudly and off-key, “Every _nug_ and acolyte of the Choir / Turned their _tits_ and minds as one to / Their god's command. For the Word of Silence / Could not be ignored, and the fire burning / In the _tit_ of the High _Nug_ consumed them / As a wildfire consumes plains.”

Mercifully, she stopped after one verse. She spread her hands like a performer expecting raucous applause.

She did not receive it.

“What a horrible childhood you endured.”

“Childhood? No, we were far more interesting as children. I don’t think I’d read more than two books before I was locked up.”

Fenris was under the impression that Hawke had been here through her childhood, because that’s when all mages were supposed to be carted off, safe and sound away from the public. But her behaviour made much more sense if she hadn’t trapped here in her formative years.

The majority of Circle mages were quiet and reserved, feigning invisibility in front of the Templars. Hawke was wild and angry, still balking at the perceived injustice of the end of her freedom as an apostate.

She hadn’t been beaten into submission yet. They hadn’t destroyed her from the inside out. But she was familiar enough with the Circle to have a routine, have an ugly sense of humour about the place, have an uneasy relationship with the Knight-Captain.

That was one thing the Circle had going for it: the captives could keep some semblance of themselves much longer than Danarius ever allowed his slaves.

 --

Hawke ate like a rabid Mabari. The abysmal quality of the food delivered to their rooms didn’t matter. It all raced down her gullet at the speed of light.

Fenris, like a normal person, took all the food that wasn’t immediately perishable, like bread or jerky, hid it in a spare robe, and hung it under his bed frame, out of the sight from guards’ inspections. Then he slowly ate his remaining meal in small bites to trick himself into thinking he was getting more food than he was. That way he was perpetually near-full, and had snacks to sustain him until his next meal, which proved indispensable when the Templars flat-out refused to serve them dinner for no discernible reason.

Hawke had a different strategy.

The moon was a slit in the thin window. The cool night wind brushed through Fenris’ hair like iced fingers.

Hawke whined from her bed five feet away. “C’mon, I know you’re awake.”

Fenris laid still, hands folded over his chest, and didn’t open his eyes.

“Big Dick,” she continued. “Just give me, like, half a roll and I’ll shut up.”

She was whining like she hadn’t been fed in days. She’d only missed dinner.

“ _Fenris_.”

He sighed heavily. His supply could last him three days. Hawke, if given the chance, would eat it all in one sitting.

But she wouldn’t stop until she was fed. Like a groveling dog. Like a starving child.

He jerkily grabbed his stockpile from under the bed and whipped a stale bun at her. “If you didn’t eat like a dragon tearing apart a carcass, you too could have extra food.”

She tore into the bun just as viciously as she had every other meal.

Fenris tugged the thin sheets back up to his chin. “You better savour it. I am not one to share.”

With a mouthful of bread, she asked, “What, did you grow up in an orphanage or something?”

“I mean it. Eat slower. You’ll be full longer.”

She let out a garbled, snarky reply that Fenris didn’t quite catch and didn’t care enough to decipher.

Breakfast came as usual the next morning. She tossed him her bread in repayment.

 --

“Hawke,” Fenris whispered, standing at the foot of her bed.

He’d been awoken, not as usual by the click of a Templar’s key in the lock to release them after being locked in all night, but by moaning. The moon still hung in the sky, the white crescent reflected blurrily in the sea below.

And Hawke was having a nightmare.

Sweat beaded on her brow, sheets tangled in her legs, her bottom lip wobbled.

Fenris clenched his fists.

“Hawke,” he said louder. She was shuddering. “Hawke!”

She jerked awake, a fireball in hand extinguishing as soon it appeared. Fenris leapt back, tattoos washing her face in an eerie blue glow. The fireball reappeared.

“ _What_?” She blinked blearily, voice thick with sleep. “Why are you up?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh?” She waved away the fire. In turn, Fenris dismissed his tattoos. “Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?”

“Mages dream in the Fade, don’t they?” Where demons roamed free, desperately searching for a host.

“We all dream in the Fade, Big Dick.” She wiped the sweat off the back of her neck. “But don’t worry. Summoning a demon into myself would void the terms of our truce. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Fenris continued to glare at her, holding himself tight like a demon was about to burst out of her and attack him. But she just settled back into bed, sheets crumpled at the foot of it, and told him she couldn’t sleep with him staring at her like that.

So he grudgingly returned to his own bed. He did not expect to sleep again.

“Thank you,” Hawke murmured after a few minutes.

“What?”

“For waking me. I fucking hate the Fade. All it does is torment me with past mistakes.” Fenris grunted in response. “Would you like me to wake you from yours?”

“Hm?”

“Your nightmares. You’ve had a few. I keep letting you suffer because I’m afraid you’ll-” She shot out a hand and made a fist, a crude imitation of Fenris’ own stab in her chest “-if I disturb you.”

“A wise decision,” he said absently. She kept watching him. Finally he said, “I hardly see the point in being wrested from sleep. I only wake in another nightmare.”

Hawke let out another groan, and for a second he thought she’d somehow returned to a nightmare. “Okay, Captain Edgelord. I’ll leave you to your suffering, then.”

 --

There were an unfortunate number of children in the Circle. Fenris did not mind the concept of children; he’d been perfectly pleasant to the slave children at Danarius’ estate.

But he never knew what to do with them.

And these were _mage_ children. They had no idea how to contain the terrifying amount of power at their fingertips.

Nor did they know how to shut up.

“Are you an elf?” A redheaded boy that could have been anywhere from eight to twelve years old stared at him with wide eyes.

“What does it look like?”

“Looks like you have knives for ears.”

“Calvin!” Hawke called from across the balcony. She was surrounded by half a dozen tiny mages. “That’s very rude. Apologize.”

The balcony was large enough for at least twenty people to comfortably mingle, and the only place in the whole tower that allowed mages outside. A fence covered it like a birdcage, but it was better than nothing. Fenris had avoided the balcony because it was always teeming with mages, but he’d been without sun for months now and feared he may be coming down with something after so much time indoors.

Also Hawke was teaching children how to freeze things.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said. When Fenris only grunted and leaned further back in his chair, the boy prodded, “Do you accept my apology?”

“I suppose.”

“Where’d you get those tattoos?”

Behind his half-closed eyes, Fenris saw him lift his hand. “ _Don’t_ ,” he hissed, “touch them.”

He lowered his hand but remained unfazed. “Can you give me tattoos?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the equipment.”

“What’s the equipment?”

So many questions. Children were exhausting. “A needle as long as your arm.”

“Whoa.” His eyes widened. “Really? Weren’t you scared?”

Fenris didn’t remember, so he shook his head.

“Did it hurt?”

Yes.

He tilted his head back against the chair and called, “Can someone collect this child?”

He did not like that there were no parents to all these children. Who was in charge of them? There should be at least two Templars to every child, but that simply wasn’t feasible; there were only two guards on the balcony right now. The lack of guardians left dozens of children running through the Circle with no one to account for them.

Of course, the crying children, or the dead-eyed ones, or the silent kids who watched but never spoke, were not any better than the boisterous ones. They looked too much like the adults. Like they’d realized far too young that this Circle was the end of their life, one way or another.

Hawke told Calvin that he was missing out on valuable tips—that she was an expert and skipping her lessons in favour of bothering an elf would irreparably damage his magical education.

The boy still didn’t seem to care, but he rejoined the group anyway. Hawke threw a smile at Fenris over the children’s heads.

Fenris let his eyes slide half-closed again, letting the sun warm his tawny skin.

He’d been enjoying the late afternoon sun for barely five minutes before another Templar ran onto the balcony. “Everybody to their rooms immediately.”

The children all whined, looking to Hawke with pleading eyes.

A Templar grabbed a young girl by the arm and she immediately started crying. “Rooms. _Now_.”

Hawke herded the children back into the main building, murmuring gently to them even as she glared at the Templars. Fenris trailed after her.

“What is it now?” Hawke asked the Templar gripping her elbow.

“Abomination.”

This was the third abomination since Fenris had been imprisoned. He didn’t know whether to blame the Templars for doing a horrible job or blame the mages for being incorrigible.

“Andraste’s ass hole,” Hawke muttered.

“Watch that mouth, Champ.” The Templar leaned in close to her ear. “Or I’ll watch it for you.”

“Shouldn’t you be killing that abomination?” Fenris’ fingers twitched for his sword, or a dagger—hell, even a large stick would calm his nerves about having a possessed mage running around.

“Shut it, elf.”

They were deposited in their room and locked in, even though sunset was hours away

Hawke sank onto her bed. “We’re not getting dinner tonight, are we?”

Instead of reminding her that he’d told her at every meal since she’d groveled for a piece of bread that she should be setting food aside, he said, “Aren’t you at all concerned about the abomination? It could be anywhere. It could be in the room next to us.”

He eyed the walls suspiciously as he paced the short length of the room.

“Fenris.” She sounded tired. “It’s never an abomination.”

“What else would it be?”

“Abomination is the excuse they use to kill a mage that a Templar impregnated.”

He stopped his pacing. “No.”

She looked at him incredulously but kept her voice level. “Are you defending the Templars, or do you think mages are really so stupid that we keep summoning demons into our bodies?”

“Obviously the latter,” he spat. He’d fought abominations. They were grotesque and terrifying and all too common. Hawke was playing with wishful thinking. “You mages don’t know how to control your power. Demons are drawn to it and you fall prey to their promise of more power-”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” Hawke leaned back on her hands. The late afternoon sun cutting through the window shadowed her eye sockets. There was nothing but a faint glint in the hollows of her eyes. “Let’s hope no demon happens upon me while I dream.”

Hawke curled up on her bed and said no more after her threat.

Fenris watched his roommate most of the night, unable to shake off the edge her words had put him on. He’d let himself fall into a soft complacency. He’d allowed Hawke to force an irritating bond, but her behaviour proved that he could never let his guard down. Even with their truce of non-violence, even when she’d told him just last week that she would never welcome a demon, he couldn’t trust her. Simmering just below the surface was her connection to the Fade, to demons, to an unknown amount of power.

Her attitude could change in an instant. Flip from smiling and jovial to quiet and threatening like a phantom in the night.

The markings on his hand glowed softly. What would his punishment be if he killed her? Whether or not the Templars truly killed mages for bearing a child, he knew they didn’t care about the safety of their prisoners. He'd surmised their loathing from their attitude, their leers, their harsh hands and cutting words. The desperate cries for help in the middle of the night.

How would they punish Fenris if he stuck his hand in Hawke’s heart and stopped it from ever beating again?

Isolation?

Or, more likely, they’d decide he was an impossible threat and execute him.

If he couldn’t discover a means to escape the tower, maybe he’d do them both the mercy of killing her.

 --

The next morning, the Templars unlocked their doors and delivered breakfast as if nothing demonic had transpired.

Hawke gulped down her meal faster than Fenris could blink. On her way out the door she said, “If there were real abominations, wouldn’t they hold us in our rooms longer? Search each of us for any trace of a demon? Do _something_ to prevent this horrible pattern of us reaching into the Fade and the Fade refusing to let go?”

She didn’t wait for a response before storming out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did anybody else feel like the amount of abominations we encountered in the game was, like, /totally/ overkill just to justify oppressing mages? Show of hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Do you remember_  
>  _when you were young_  
>  _and you wanted to_  
>  _set the world on fire?_  
>  I Was a Teenage Anarchist - Against Me!

A few days passed and Hawke continued to ignore Fenris’ existence, which was a huge shock but a welcome change of pace.

Besides the library, where Hawke was situated, and the balcony, where an uncomfortable amount of mages congregated, the parlour was the only place left to spend time other than his room. And spending all day in his room had garnered unwanted Templar attention before, so Fenris grudgingly went to the parlour.

It was just another dingy room, down the hall past the balcony and the children’s tutoring room, filled with musty furniture two seconds from falling apart.

He settled into a stiff armchair riddled with holes and laid a book, stuffed with his messy notes, across his lap. He bowed his head over the map sketches, waiting for a brilliant idea to strike.

Nothing came to him, which he blamed on the fact that he could feel he was being watched.

He peered up from beneath his bangs to survey his surroundings. A Tranquil was sweeping the floor with a placid smile on his face. Fenris’ quickly turned his gaze to a trio of older women doing needlepoint. Somehow even with a severed Fade connection, Tranquils were far creepier than mages.

Closer to Fenris were a pair of mages at a circular table, ostensibly playing cards, but tossing looks at Fenris when they thought he wasn’t looking.

The woman peeked at Fenris over her cards. Her hair was greying at the temples, a matching metallic to her bronzed skin. The younger man across from her had completely abandoned the pretense of the game, cards flapped out in front of him like a fan, squinting at Fenris for minutes at a time until the woman kicked him under the table.

Fenris closed his book with a snap. He’d come to the parlour so he wouldn’t run into Hawke at the library, but it looked like he would have to risk it. He could hide himself away behind stacks of books easier than in the openness of the parlour.

Before he could stand up, the man staring at him said, “You been spending a lot of time with Hawke.”

Fenris headed to the door regardless.

“Hey, you hear me, elf? Your ears are big en-”

He whirled to face him. His companion had a warning hand on his arm, glaring at him warningly.

“Excuse him,” she said to Fenris. “He’s picked up too much from the Templars.”

The man’s chin drew into his pasty neck, offended at the comparison. Fenris turned to leave again, but the man said, “Hey, I asked you a question.”

“A poorly formed question, because I took it as a statement,” Fenris said. “Which I have no response to, so I elected to ignore you completely.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Alright, then. Why’re you hanging around Hawke? Whaddya want?”

“A little peace and quiet, but it seems I’m destined for a life of disappointment.”

The woman hid her chuckle behind her playing cards.

The man’s face creased and he asked him again what he was doing with Hawke, because it seemed everyone knew that peace and quiet weren’t likely to be found anywhere in the vicinity of Hawke.

“What business is it of yours?” Fenris replied, instead of explaining he had very little say in how much time he spent with Hawke. “Have I stolen her away from you two? I assure you, you can take her back.”

“No, but she’s _Hawke_.” That was the extent of the man’s explanation.

And Fenris had no real interest in discussing the matter further, so he turned to the door.

“In any case, she's seemed a bit brighter since you’ve arrived,” the woman said. Probably because of his auxiliary food supply that helped her through long, hungry nights. “She’s been down ever since…” She lowered her voice. “You know.”

He did not, but he nodded anyway to avoid further conversation. “Unsurprising. There’s little to do here other than wallow in misery."

She tilted her head kindly. “You’ll change your mind. Just give it a few years.”

“No.” Then he turned on his heel and left.

So he ended up in the library anyway.

On his way to a private corner, Fenris’ gaze skipped right over the Templar bracing his hands on the table on either side of Hawke, her spine unyielding as he crowded her space and whispered in her ear. Thanks to his and Hawke’s argument, Fenris had no reason to go near that Templar. The gift that kept on giving.

He settled into a small desk away from prying eyes.

He set out his plans again, but they all relied much too heavily on luck. On Templars not being around at the exact second he needed to be somewhere. On his ability to slink silently, invisibly through walls and doors. He was not confident he’d be able to keep his energy up throughout the escape. And if the phylacteries weren’t in the basement like Hawke thought, then it was all a wash anyway.

He rubbed a flat hand over his face, a habit from wearing clawed gauntlets for years. He still felt naked without them, without his sword, without his sharp armour. He’d never get that back.

He’d never get this wasted time back.

“You’re glowing.”

Fenris flinched, quill held like a sword.

Hawke held her hands up in mock surrender. “Just a heads up. You know you’ll get isolation for that.”

If he couldn’t hide from one person in the library for a few hours, how did he expect to hide from a countless guards on his way out of there?

He slammed his book shut. Where was he supposed to go now? “I was under the impression you weren’t going to speak to me any longer.”

She shrugged. “I got bored.”

He settled his tattoos down as he shuffled his papers together, swearing at her under his breath.

“Was that Elvish?” He grunted in response and, despite him physically walking away from her, she continued the conversation. “So you’re Dalish, right?”

He was an elf with tattoos, of course she’d assume he was Dalish. He said he was, because if he told the truth she’d continue with her line of questioning and ask what a Tevinter was doing in Kirkwall.

“Did you live at the Sundermount camp?”

A piece of parchment slipped out of his arms and he scrambled to retrieve it before Hawke could inspect his scribbles. “What’s it to you?”

For whatever reason, she took that as a ‘yes’ and asked, “Did you know Merrill?”

He went along with it, because he couldn’t think of any other Dalish camps. “Vaguely.”

Hawke blocked his path. “She’s a blood mage.” He grimaced. “You’re not Dalish,” she accused.

“And you’re not entitled to my past.”

“Why not?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve been roommates for three months and I know nothing about you.” Her bony fingers curled like they wanted to wrap around his neck. “Do you know how much restraint it’s taken me to not ask about your _glowing body tats_? What’s it gonna hurt to just tell me where you’re from?”

The reminder that he’d been in this hell hole for three months sunk him into an even fouler mood. “This may come as a shock to you, mage, but I’m not interested in sharing my life story with you.”

“What else have you got to do?”

He clutched his papers even tighter to his chest.

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “You’re still planning to escape.”

“No.”

A smile spread across her face; sharp, like the edge of a blade. “I can help.”

He advanced on her, eating up her personal space like she gobbled food. “We’ve avoided killing each other thus far by not discussing personal matters. I haven’t asked what happened to your sister, or why you’re the only prisoner allowed visitors, or why random mages I’ve never seen you talk to seem interested in your wellbeing. Because I don’t care. I don’t want to know you and I am _not_ escaping with you.”

Her shoulders slumped but her jaw went hard.

Fenris left.

 --

Hawke blew into the room an hour before dinner, interrupting Fenris in the middle of his workout routine. He rushed to pull his robe back on.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Big Dick.” She tossed herself onto her bed. She took a deep breath. “Bethany died.”

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, still on the floor. “Who?”

“My sister,” she said with a pointed look. “We were refugees from Ferelden, you know? I survived the Blight, just to…” She clenched her jaw before slowly relaxing it. “She was caught years ago. When I got locked up we kept our familial relationship quiet, but before long they double-checked our papers and they sent her to a different Circle.” She picked at a stray thread on her bedsheet. “A few months later, Cullen told me she killed herself at the new place. I don’t know if I believe that.” 

“I… am sorry.” He pulled himself off the floor onto his bed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know. You don’t care. You’re not curious at all, even though you can bombard me with personal questions at a moment’s notice.” She ripped the stray thread off, her fingertips going red with the effort. “Me demanding your secrets wasn’t exactly fair, was it? I talk a lot, but I don’t say much.”

Those had to be the truest words to ever come out of her mouth.

Despite her candor, he remained uninterested in a bonding session. He hoped she was prepared for another one-sided conversation.

“I knew Cullen before I was sent here,” she continued. “At some point he must have realized I was a mage, but he never reported me. I thought that meant I was safe. I thought…” She squeezed her eyes shut tight, shaking her head. “I thought I could change things. I did, I guess. My mistake was thinking I’d be well-received by those who mattered. Remember when the Qunari attacked the city last year?”

Of course he did, but she didn’t wait for his response. “I stopped them. Went up one-on-one against the Arishok. And then Knight-Commander Meredith stopped me.”

She sat up and spread her arms, again, like a great performer. Her smile was ghoulish. “I’m the Champion of Kirkwall! Meredith said so, right before she kicked me in here. Because I was an apostate, so the countless times I risked my life for this shit stain of a city suddenly weren’t worth anything.”

Fenris had heard of a vigilante working through the city, dealing with matters that for whatever reason couldn’t be resolved through proper channels. He’d never heard they were a mage. He hadn’t heard they had anything to do with the suppression of the Qunari, either.

Knight-Commander Meredith claimed credit for that.

So his knee-jerk reaction was to not take Hawke at her word. A mage saving the city? He balked. But Hawke specifically? It had taken half his isolation for the bump on his head to fade after she knocked him into a wall. He had little doubt that she was capable of taking down the Arishok.

And everything he knew of the Knight-Commander supported Hawke’s claim whole-heartedly. Like Fenris, she hated mages. Unlike Fenris, she could do something about her revulsion, and she took full advantage of her position. He had no doubt that, faced with the possibility of the city lauding a mage as a hero, she would do everything in her power to get rid of that mage.

And the Templars mocked Hawke, saluting and bowing when she walked by. Hung around her like flies and let her be as rude as she wanted because they knew she’d lost all her power when the Knight-Commander sent her here.

“They call you Champ,” he said, finally understanding why the Templars always looked so amused with themselves.

 “I shouldn’t be in here, Fenris.” Hawke crossed her legs under herself and leaned forward, knees on her elbows. He took in her sunken eyes, bony fingers, her whole body screaming from hunger. Not just for food, but freedom. Vengeance, maybe. Justice. She was starving.

So was he.

“My escape plans are little more than fantasy,” he dismissed. Giving her hope where there was none to be found would be cruel.

“I could probably get Cullen to help-”

“ _No_.”

Templars had once been neutral at best and suspicious at worst. Now they were nothing but his enemies, the same as mages.

And he could not trust a mage, no matter how much pity he felt for her. He would not put himself in a position where he had to rely on the stability of Hawke, of all people. That would only lead to disaster, and any escape attempt was likely to go up in flames even without Hawke’s involvement.

“Yeah, who’d wanna team up with a washed up hero, right?” She whipped her pillow across the room. It glowed red as it flew from her hand, smoke trailing. By the time the pillow would’ve hit the wall, feathers and linen were already ash. “I’m not even allowed to stop Templars from killing pregnant women.”

Fenris had scooted back when the pillow caught fire, tattoos alight with the only defense he had left.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Hawke huffed like she’d ran a mile. Before he could lie and say he wasn’t scared, she scrubbed a hand over her face and groaned. “I was somebody once.”

And Fenris had been free once. He understand the frustration. Of working so hard to be more than you ever thought you could be only to have the opportunity ripped from your clenched fists.

“I was a slave in Tevinter,” he said quietly. Hawke’s head came up with a snap. “My former slave master branded lyrium to my skin.”

“Lyrium?” she breathed. “Don’t tell me he was a mage.”

His lip curled. “A magister.”

“And now you’re stuck here with a bunch of mages.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. Fenris thought she was coughing again, but then she let out a poorly-concealed giggle. “It’s not funny, I’m sorry.”

There was something wrong with this woman. There was something wrong with _him_ , that he saw a parallel between them. Both fought tooth and nail for freedom only to have it snatched away at the last moment.

“It’s as funny as you saving Kirkwall and getting thrown in the Circle as a reward.”

Laughter wracked her body like a disease. “I fought darkspawn and dragons and giant spiders and it was Knight-Commander _fucking_ Meredith who did me in! That’s hilarious.”

“I’m not even a mage,” he offered in return to her frenzied laughter.

She pointed both her hands at him. “You’re not even a mage!” She laughed until tears dripped from her eyes. Fenris kept watch on her hands, worried that her hysteria would bring magic springing from her fingertips. But they only curled into her hair. The humour slowly drained out of her.

“Maker preserve us,” she muttered in a ragged voice.

“It’s very kind of you to include me,” he said, “but I don’t think your Maker is listening.”

She flipped him off.


	5. Chapter 5

After their reluctant heart-to-heart, Hawke picked up her one-sided conversations with Fenris. She really seemed to enjoy the sound of her own voice sporadically interrupted by Fenris’ hums of acknowledgement or, just as likely, a “No.”

For example, they were in the library as usual and Hawke started asking him a bunch of questions about healing herbs.

Fenris didn’t know what about him suggested that he knew anything about herbalism, and he said as much.

Hawke shrugged. “Nothing, really. You’re even holding the book upside down.”

“No,” he said even though, upon closer inspection, he could very see that it clearly was.

She leaned her chin against her hand. “Fen.”

She’d taken to calling him that after they discussed their pasts, as if that gave her any right to act so familiar with him. He wasn’t sure he didn’t prefer ‘Big Dick’.

“You can tell me that you can’t read.”

“I can,” he lied immediately. He didn’t know why. It would be a very short-lived lie.

“I can teach you.”

He slammed shut the book he wasn’t reading. “I’m not a child. I don’t need a tutor.”

Before he could leave in a huff, she said, “Oh no, not for you. I just want something to do. Think about how much time teaching you to read will take!” When he narrowed his eyes, she shoved her book away from herself. “I’ve learned more healing magic than I ever planned on knowing. I want a new hobby. Please.”

He made an unimpressed noise in the back of his throat. “You’re very quick.”

“I didn’t resolve _every_ problem I’ve ever met with violence.” She winked. “Just most of them.”

He sighed hugely. “Do not wink at me again.”

“You got it, Fen.” She left to fetch a few ‘easy-reading’ books, and when she returned with books of children’s fables, she said, “So, wait,” as if Fenris had been in the middle of doing anything.

He raised a brow.

“This just occurred to me. Why are you affected by Templars’ powers when you’re not even a mage?”

“I am just as infuriated, I assure you.”

Her bouncing knee made the unbalanced table wobble softly. “What happens when they do it? Do your tattoos stop working?”

“Only because I stop them,” he said. “They burn—I mean, they’re not the most comfortable at the best of times, but when the Templars attack it’s agony.”

“Hm.” She tapped her chin. She looked deep in thought, which unnerved him greatly. “So… your tattoos are lyrium. Do you interact with the Fade?”

Fenris cleared his throat and slid one of the books she’d retrieved in front of himself. “I am so looking forward to joining the ranks of the literate.”

She pointed an accusatory finger at him, lips twisting with a smirk. “Okay, Mage Hater. Just remember, you use magic, too.”

He stiffened. He was more than willing to fall back into arguing with her if she was going to suggest that his hatred of mages was unwarranted.

She noticed his unease, but she simply tilted his head, as if he couldn’t possibly have a solid justification.

“I use magic because the man who forced these tattoos on me is a mage,” he said through clenched teeth. “The man who tortured me and used me for his own means burned his magic to my skin and branded me as his forever.”

She pressed her lips together. “Okay, but-”

His scathing glare stopped her in her tracks.

She met his gaze for a few more seconds before ducking her head, backing down for what Fenris assumed was the first time in her life. “I… see your point.”

Which was more acknowledgement of his feelings than he’d ever gotten from any other mage.

But of course she wasn’t done. Always another question, another comment, another word escaping her mouth. She never stopped.

At least now she paused. She hemmed and she hawed and Fenris almost left just to escape the conversation.

Finally she asked, “Have you ever attacked a mage just for being a mage?”

“What?”

She spread her hands, like she’d been quite clear about her question and he should’ve answered it already. “Did you ever kill a mage just because you hate mages?”

A legitimate enough question. “No. I mean, I’ve killed mages,” he said in case that was her next question.

“So have I,” she said. “A fight’s a fight. But-”

“No, I’ve never jumped a mage solely for vengeance.” For coin, sure. If they were threatening him, yes. But not out of the blue.

She nodded, shoulders relaxing, though before that second Fenris hadn’t noticed they were tensed. “Good.”

“I could be lying,” he pointed out.

She glared at him. He bit down on a smirk.

 --

One night after dinner, when they were locked in their room ‘for their own safety’ until morning, Hawke mused, “I heard the Hero of Ferelden was released from her Circle. Maybe I could get out of here by becoming a Grey Warden.”

He’d intended to go right to sleep, but he pointed out that they were not in a Blight, to stop her from rambling on for another hour about the possibility.

“I know where we could get some darkspawn.”

Instigating a Blight just to get out of the Circle was one escape route he hadn’t considered. Not the worst plan, but, “I thought all the Grey Wardens were dead.”

“No.” She was silent for so long after that Fenris thought she’d fallen asleep. Eventually she murmured, “I know one. You wouldn’t like him.”

“A mage?” he guessed.

Her bedframe squeaked as she flipped on her side to face him. Her teeth shone in the moonlight as she smiled. “You’re gonna hate this: he’s possessed by the spirit of Justice.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

She laughed, tucking her hands under her head. “He once told me he’d drown everybody in blood to keep me safe.”

“Then where’s the flood?”

She fell silent again. Maybe she didn’t like the reminder that her lover failed in his grandiose promises.

“I’ll bring the flood,” she said quietly. “Even if it kills me.”

He hummed quietly. “I can only imagine it will.”

\--               

The next day Hawke wasn’t in the library for a tutoring session, even though Fenris was under the impression that she would be waiting there after he finished his morning workout routine. He was under this impression because that’s what she’d told him before she left their room.

So he left the library, because he wasn’t going to pretend to read alone, and ambled around aimlessly like an idiot until he caught sight of Hawke in a little side room near the stairwell. The Templars that were usually posted on either side of the stairwell door now stood three paces away, guarding the open doorway. Obviously they assumed they could stop any mage just as easily from such a short distance away, but the sight of the unguarded door still sparked in Fenris the impulse to escape. Right now.

“Move it along, elf,” grunted one of the Templars stationed at the doorway.

But it wasn’t worth it, he knew, to try right now. Not with the Templars watching him like hawks.

Hawke looked up and smiled. “Fenris, come meet Varric.”

She was sitting with a ponytailed dwarf who must’ve been very confident in his chest hair, because his tunic dipped into the lowest ‘V’ Fenris had ever seen. Their hands were wrapped in each other’s over top a round wooden table between them.

The Templar blocked the open doorway with his sword even though Fenris had made no move to step inside. “Only you’ve got visiting rights, Champ.”

A scowl clouded her face. She sourly introduced them through the doorway. “Varric, this is Fenris.”

“A pleasure,” the dwarf said.

Fenris nodded once.

The Templars dismissed him with a vague threat of making him Tranquil if he didn’t comply. So he walked away, leaving Hawke to her exclusive visitation rights.

Fenris had nobody who would’ve visited him, but he couldn’t help think that if he had the resources on the outside, they’d make his escape attempt easier. One of his main concerns was that, even if he destroyed his phylactery, slipped past or killed all the Templars in his way and got to the street, he’d have to flee the city— _fast_. He couldn’t see that happening when he had no coin and nowhere to go.

While he waited in their room he worked on coming up with a solution, but still hadn’t come up with anything useful when Hawke returned. “Sorry I was late to the library. Varric’s not coming next week so I wheedled the guards into letting him stay longer today.”

He shrugged. It’s not like he had a detailed schedule to keep. He swept his shoddy escape plans back into his hiding spot where the Templars couldn’t see them, with his spare food under bed frame, before heading back to the library with her.

In a rare expression of interest in her life, he asked, “So did you take a new lover after the mage?”

“What?”

“Dwarves can’t wield magic, right? He wasn’t the Grey Warden.”

“No, and Anders was never my _lover_ ,” she laughed.

He looked at her askance. “Excuse my presumptuousness, but he said he’d drown everybody in blood to keep you safe.”

“And that sounded very romantic to you?”

“It’s a romantic _sentiment_ ,” he said after a moment. Willingness to murder anyone and everyone in order to protect a specific person sounded like the highest form of loyalty to Fenris. “Unless he’s a blood mage, which would sully the concept.”

“No, he’s not a blood mage. And he’s just dramatic, he’s not…” She trailed off, dawning realization smoothing her features. “Maker, he was flirting with me.”

Fenris couldn’t help but laugh.

She gaped at him. “That’s what finally gets a laugh from you? My poor observation skills?” She shook her head. “That must’ve been why he got so upset when I hooked up with Isabela.”

Which answered his follow-up, incredulous question of whether she’d ever been courted before.

“Who is this Isabela? She sounds like fun.”

“She’s a pirate queen; you’d love her,” she said absently, still reeling from her sudden insight. “I just thought he was really into mage solidarity.”

The Templars they passed in the corridor shushed them even though it was the middle of the day and there was no one to disturb.

“I’m starting to think you’re not as smart as I’d assumed,” Fenris said lowly.

“You think I’m smart?” She looked just as shocked as when she’d realized the mage had a crush on her. “I thought the only characteristics you’d attach to me were dangerous and mouthy.”

“Well, that’s a given.”

She scowled as they entered the library. She went off to find some books for Fenris to gruellingly learn to read from. When she returned to the table she said, “So why did you think Varric was my lover?”

“He isn’t either?”

“No. And before you ask—Isabela isn’t either. We just hooked up once. Twice…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Why do you think I’m with Varric?”

He shrugged. “You were holding hands.”

She snorted. “Ah yes. The raw, unadulterated passion of holding hands.” She flipped through the closest book, only looking up when Fenris didn’t respond. Perhaps she read the confusion on his face because she explained, “I just miss it. The comfort of a simple touch. Don’t you?”

Several time a day he had to stop himself from ripping off the sleeves of his robe so the cloth would stop irritating his tattoos, so, “No.”

“Lucky. Sometimes all I can think about is-” She brought her fingers softly over the knobbly knuckles of her opposite hand. The image made his face heat for no explicable reason. “Or for someone to stroke my hair. You know?”

The only comparable experience that came to mind was when Danarius cupped the back of his head in front of powerful friends. To show off how much more powerful he was, freely touching the wolf at his side. Fenris shuddered. “No. Nobody ever stroked my hair while I was a slave.”

“But before that?” she asked. “Did you know your mother?”

“I don’t remember anything before these tattoos.”

Thankfully, instead of cranking out pity, she got annoyed. “Everything that comes out of your mouth makes me more depressed than I have ever been. Let’s just read this book.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And it’s sad to know_  
>  _that we are not alone_  
>  _And it’s sad to know_  
>  _that there’s no honest way out_  
>  Brave as a Noun - Andrew Jackson Jihad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there is rape in this chapter. Not described, but it happens. Also mild violence.

Fenris was trying to soak up some sun on the balcony again. It was going better than last time because it was free of children, busy in lessons. Unfortunately they were replaced by a trio of Tranquils, lingering like stalks of corn swaying in the wind. Empty corn husks with no personality of their own. He tried to convince himself that they were no threat to him, that their connection to the Fade was destroyed. They were harmless.

But his gaze kept sliding to them, a shiver snaking down his spine despite the warm day.

“The sky is so clear today.” Unbothered by the Tranquils, or at least ignoring their presence, Hawke was leaning against the wrought iron bars that kept the mages from throwing themselves off the balcony. “You can see the whole city.”

Fenris stretched out in his chair. “Why bother?”

“Come look with me.”

“I’ll not torture myself the way you do.”

“I’ll join ya, Hawke.”

Fenris jerked to attention. The offer came from a Templar, tall, brunette, a thin nose—he looked like any other Templar. Fenris couldn’t have picked his face out of a crowd. He lined himself up against Hawke’s back, gripping the bars on either side of her waist.

Hawke held herself still within the cage of the Templar’s arms. “I didn’t ask for your company.”

“But you got it. Because I’m just that _nice_.” He pressed her into the bars, no escape.

Fenris didn’t remember standing, but he was up. He was up and his hands were fisted at his side. In his head he was tearing the Templar off her, but Hawke could do that herself. She just wasn’t _allowed_ to.

And neither was Fenris.

But the Templar wouldn’t really do anything, right? He was just scaring her, showing off his power.

It was the middle of the day. In public. With witnesses. People to watch in horror as he tried to take something that wasn’t his.

But the Tranquils weren’t looking and they didn’t have the capacity to care. They were worse than harmless; they were useless.

The two Templars there to guard them, to prevent mage-on-mage violence, wouldn’t do anything

“You’re not nice, you’re a jack off,” Hawke said.

The Templar bunched up her robe. He pulled it up, exposing Hawke’s feet, her knobbly ankles, her calves.

“By the Maker, you cannot-”

The Templar chuckled. “The Maker’s not here for you, mage.”

That snapped Fenris out of his shock. There would be no divine intervention. There was only him.

Fenris left, his steps quick off the balcony, down the hall, as fast as he could move without running, because that wasn’t allowed.

Wasn’t allowed, against the rules, forbidden. They couldn’t run, they couldn’t fight, they were trapped like rats. Like slaves.

He burst into the children’s tutoring room where elder mages taught children magic from dusty tomes.

“Hey!” His heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Kids!”

Nearly twenty small heads turned his way. In that moment he remembered Hawke teasing that all the children referred to him as ‘scary elf man’.

One of the tutor mages frowned at him. “They’re in lesson.”

A Templar guarding them straightened from his slouched position against the wall.

Fenris waved at the children. “Hawke wants to teach you something. Out on the balcony. Right now.”

“Hawke?” Calvin, the irritating redhead, stood up.

“Very exciting magic, she wants you all out there.” His nails were biting into the wood of the doorway. Why didn’t children blindly listen to their elders? The Templar needed to be distracted. _Now_. “Come along, hurry up.”

He tried to force pep into his voice. It may have instead come out frantic.

But the children followed him like the tide, pleased to get out of dry lessons, excited to see Hawke.

The Templar followed, calling for him to return the kids, but Fenris bustled them onto the balcony.

“Children,” he yelled. “Children are here.”

A shred of decorum must have remained within the Templar, because he leapt away from Hawke at Fenris’ announcement.

The children rushed Hawke, laughing, demanding to be taught something fun. She pasted an empty smile on her face and crouched down to speak with them. Her neck was marked with red but the Templar was furious. Fenris had returned in time.

The Templar who’d had his hands on her set his sights on Fenris. The one who’d followed him from the classroom grabbed his arm. The two guards watching over the balcony glared at him. Four Templars crowded him against the wall across from the balcony’s doorway.

He hadn’t expected any different.

“You sweet on the Champion, elf?” said the first Templar, the one who’d groped Hawke. Who would have done so much worse if Fenris hadn’t intervened. Fresh rage welled in his chest as he swaggered toward Fenris, shoulders pulled back, a sneer smeared across his face. “You want her all for yourself?”

Fenris lowered his gaze, forcing his rage to a simmer because he was going to be punished, but if he acted repentant, ashamed, or at least unaggressive they might not get any angrier.

And they wouldn’t go back to Hawke.

“I thought the children would want to see her.” Fenris had barely finished before the Templar took hold of an ear and socked him in the stomach.

He barely winced. He’d suffered much worse and besides, non-reaction was key.

“He’s been following her around like a pup since he got here,” another Templar said.

“Yeah, I would too, with that ass.”

They laughed.

“He isn’t too bad either. Could bend him over and you wouldn’t even know the difference.”

“You’d have to cut off his ears, though. I don’t wanna fuck an elf.”

Fenris’ fists clenched, trying to keep their shaking to a minimum. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Wasn’t a new threat. Nothing new, nothing shocking, he insisted to himself, as if the monotony of the attack should soothe the dread bubbling in his chest.

A dagger flashed in the first Templar’s hand. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.”

Fenris’ mouth went dry. “I apologize for interrupting-”

Another punch to the stomach. His ear twisted in the Templar’s gritty fingers.

A blade brushed the thin skin where his ear connected to his scalp. “You need to respect your superiors, elf.”

“Fenris!” Hawke rose from the huddle of children, hand outstretched, aglow with light. Aimed at the Templar. But she couldn’t attack a Templar. That would get her worse than isolation. Tranquil. Death.

Instead she aimed at Fenris. She mouthed an apology.

Then he was slammed to the ground by an unseen force, his ear ripped from the Templar’s hand.

A chorus of impressed cries rose from the children. Fenris spat out blood.

A whole troop of Templars came down the hall, led by Knight-Captain Cullen.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Nothing of import,” Hawke snarled. “Just your typical day in the Circle.”

Fenris and Hawke were quickly rounded up and sent to isolation. He expected to be in the cold, grungy cell for weeks, was already stewing about it, but the window hatch opened after a few hours.

“You get three days,” Cullen said. “For disrupting the tutoring session.”

Fenris scrambled to his feet before he could close the window. “And Hawke?”

“She assaulted you. Two weeks.”

“But-”

“She told me what happened. That doesn’t change the rules.”

“And the Templars?” His words weren’t more articulated than a growl.

Cullen closed the window without responding.

\--

Fenris would never admit it, but once he was released from isolation he didn’t know quite what to do with himself. He’d spent so much time with Hawke lately that the tower felt empty without her, even though it was filled with Templars who’d taken a much greater interest in him since the balcony. They shoved him into walls, tripped him, blamed him for shit he had nothing to do with.

This was not the easy inconspicuousness he’d need to escape unnoticed. His every move was tracked, and not just by the Templars. The mages were keeping a closer eye on his as well. Word had gotten out about the altercation, but nobody was brave enough to ask for details.

Until found himself in the parlour, again stared upon by a pair of inquisitive mages. He’d tucked himself in the corner behind a broken shelf so no one would see him, let alone bother him with conversation, but these two were persistent.

The gangly man who’d insulted Fenris’ ears and the older woman chatted quietly, inching ever closer to Fenris until they stood right in front of him and the woman finally turned to him.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there!” She feigned surprise. “Hello, I’m afraid we didn’t properly introduce ourselves at our last meeting. I’m Sybille and this is Tanner.”

Fenris hummed without looking up from the book he was mostly unable to read.

“Heard Hawke beat you up,” Tanner said. Sybille elbowed him in the ribs.

Fenris looked up at him without lifting his head, in what could only be described as a glower. Tanner’s throat bobbed as he gulped.

“That is correct,” Fenris said lowly. “And the Templars would’ve done much worse without her intervention.”

“Ah, the Templars,” Sybille muttered, nodding as if that explained every fuzzy rumour she’d heard.

He turned back to his book, in which he was understanding about one word per sentence. It was better than participating in mind-numbing conversation with mages. Hawke was his limit for that.

“But Hawke’s okay? Just locked up again?” Tanner asked the question, but it was Sybille wringing her fingers in her robe sleeves, a concerned crease between her brows.

“She’s fine,” he said slowly. Had they heard of what the Templar had almost done to her? Was that what caused their unease? “As far as I’m aware, she’ll be released in a week.”

Their shoulders sagged with relief.

Fenris frowned. “How many times has Hawke been sent to isolation?”

They exchanged a troubled look before Sybille said, “Many more times than anybody else I’ve seen.”

Fenris doubted that was because everyone else took the punishment as a warning and stopped acting out.

“Because she’s the Champion?” Her title must be sparing her from death. For now.

Tanner scoffed. “Yeah. Fat lot of good that does us.”

“What would you have her do?” he asked sharply. She’d expressed regret at being unable to help the mages here. This boy couldn’t blame her for being just as helpless as he.

Sybille glared at Tanner. “He didn’t mean that.”

Tanner glared back, as if he very much had meant it.

She shook her head and said to Fenris, “It’s just… Before Hawke arrived here, we spent years hearing of her rise in Kirkwall, proving herself to be more than a refugee, more than just another apostate. She was impressing the higher-ups. We were really hopeful…”

“And that was the problem, wasn’t it?” Tanner crossed his arms. “She was starting to get indispensable. So Knight-Commander Meredith kicked her in here to rot.”

“She’s not _rotting_ ,” Sybille snapped, impatience leaking into her tone for the first time.

“She is, and she’s going to die, tomorrow or in fifty years. And she won’t die as the Champion, or in some heroic fight against tyranny, but as some faceless, forgotten mage who never did anything important.” He threw his hands in the air. “Just like the rest of us!”

He stormed out before the Templar across the room could do more than look up from leering at a group of teenagers. The Templar glared at Fenris as Tanner left, but in the end didn’t give up his leaning position against the wall.

For once, Sybille did not apologize for the younger boy. She simply stared wistfully into the corner and said, “We had a lot of hope riding on her.” Her eyes met his, a shining dark brown. “You feel it, don’t you? That she was once capable of greatness.”

Fenris resisted the urge to squirm, uncomfortable with the weight of her gaze, and not agreeing with her in the slightest. “I’m not sure what about Hawke suggests that greatness remains in her past.”

Despite his terse words she smiled, deeps wrinkles forming around the corners of her mouth. “The Templars made a grave error placing you with her.”

He narrowed his eyes and, rather than respond, closed his book and left the parlour.

He hadn’t realized how much Hawke would’ve meant to these mages, or how fine a line she was walking blatantly disrespecting every authority figure with a sword.

That pasty boy was right. Hawke would die in the Circle, one way or another, and so would Fenris. Unless they took action.

\--

Fenris hung around his room all day because he had nothing to do, and not because it had been fourteen days since the incident on the balcony and therefore the day Hawke was to be released. So he did not grow more and more disappointed as dinner was served, the sun began to set, and his door was locked, signalling the end of the day.

And he didn’t grab his extra food from under his bed when he heard the key shoved into the lock a few hours after sunset.

He just _happened_ to be holding a bread roll when Hawke walked in.

“Hey,” he said, super casual. “I thought you might-”

Hawke wasn’t alone. Like a shadow, a Templar followed her into the room. He closed the door. It was the same one as before. Fenris still didn’t know his name. It didn’t matter.

“On the bed.”

“No.” Fenris’ voice was small. He had nothing to fight with. He had no plan. He could kill him, but so could Hawke. Ability wasn’t the problem.

Hawke and Fenris locked eyes.

“What the fuck are you gonna do?” the Templar scoffed. “Doors are all locked. Nobody’s coming to the rescue this time.”

Hawke hadn’t moved, so the Templar shoved her onto the bed.

The bread roll crumbled in Fenris’ hand. “You can’t do this.”

It wasn’t fair. He’d stopped this already. He tried so hard, panicked, rushed, saved her. It wasn’t _fair_ that it was happening again.

The Templar grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall. “You wanna be made Tranquil, elf?”

“No,” Hawke said quickly, perched on the edge of her bed. “He wants to wait in the hall.”

She lifted a brow, nodded at the door. That was an order.

There was nothing either of them could do.

It wasn’t fair that this hopelessness had overwhelmed him countless times before. He may as well have been a slave again, where authority ruled over reason, over justice and what was objectively _right_.

“Then get out there.” The Templar backed off him and waved to the door. He smirked as Fenris stepped into the corridor, bile on his tongue. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of the Champion.”

The Templar, this useless Templar, the same as a hundred others with nothing to distinguish him except his massive ego, had the whole fucking Chantry behind him. The whole blighted system, bent on oppressing mages, gave him a pass.

He slammed the door.

Fenris slumped to the floor and cradled his head in his glowing hands.

He held every muscle in his body tight, frozen, to keep himself from tearing back into the room and crushing that Templar’s heart. Shoving his hand in his chest, feeling the blood pump and the sinews pull before wiping his existence from Thedas.

One day, Fenris promised himself, the Templar would die, and it would be at either his or Hawke’s hand.

Eventually the door reopened. Fenris forced his tattoos to quiet.

The Templar hiked his breeches up his hips and sneered down at him. “What the fuck are you doing out of your room? Back to bed, elf.”

Fenris fisted his shaking hands. The only person he wanted to kill more in that moment was Danarius, and he wanted to kill _a lot_ of people.

“ _Vishante kaffas_.”

The Templar scoffed at his impotent rage and pushed him through the doorway.

The room was dark. It usually was, but tonight the darkness hung deeper. Like all the light had been sucked out and was replaced by deathly shadows. The lock clicked again, keeping them trapped but not keeping the right people out.

Hawke leaned against the wall on her bed, arms wrapped around her legs.

“Hawke, I-”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” she said. “Life as a Champion is just _too_ glamorous. How do I do it? It’s raw talent, really. Can’t be taught. My greatness knows no bounds.”

Fenris flinched at the word choice. Just last week he and that mage had been talking of Hawke’s greatness, her potential… It hadn’t gone anywhere.

“We’ll escape,” he said what he’d planned to tell her as soon as she returned from isolation. “I don’t know how, but… We will leave here, Hawke.”

They had to try—they had to _escape_ because neither of them were going to last. They were each other’s only chance.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and her shoulders started to shake. She must’ve been crying; he’d refused for too long. This horrible thing had already happened to her and Fenris came in with the save too late.

But then she drew her head up, laughing and smiling that awful, empty smile. “If I knew all I had to do to get your sympathy was get physically violated, I’d’ve told you about all the other times.”

His stomach dropped to his feet. “No.”

“I told you. Vulnerable dragon flesh,” she said raggedly.

He thought… he’d never seen it. He couldn’t miss the Templars’ leers, the way they acted around her. But she was the Champion. He thought they didn’t… Other mages yes, but not Hawke.

“What about Cullen?” Fenris didn’t feel heavy enough. Wavering weightless on his feet like he wasn’t attached to the ground.

She laughed again.

Because Champion or not, Hawke was a mage. And this was the Circle.

“Does he partake? No,” she said. “Does he stop it? No. And is that any different?”

“I’m so sorry.” His throat felt thick.

“Not _you_. You did what you could. You did something.”

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. He ran from Danarius, stayed with the Fog Warriors, murdered them and then turned on Danarius _too late_. He ran and ran and thought he was safe only to become a captive again in the blighted Circle. He distracted a Templar like that was going to _matter_. Like he didn’t have full access to Hawke every moment of the day.

He was never enough.

“Just go to sleep,” Hawke said, not moving from her uncomfortable-looking position against the wall. “We’ll start planning our escape in the morning.”

She did not sound overly optimistic.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned when he kept standing, staring at her from the middle of the room.

“I’m not…” He didn’t know how she thought he was looking at her. This was about her, it was all about her, but he was only thinking about how it affected him.

Because if he focused on what that Templar did, what he’d _been doing_ for who knows how long, he swore he was going to spontaneously combust.

“ _Fen_.”

He reluctantly sank into his bed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

For sitting, he assumed, even though it was literally the least he could do for her.

She looked very small, curled up like a concentrated ball of energy. Her head was tilted against the wall, sunken eyes closed, arms wrapped around her knees, thumb stroking her elbow where her hand gripped it.

“Hawke,” he murmured. He felt stupid for thinking of the idea, but he had nothing else to offer her. “Would you… at all… Want me to stroke your hair?” He cringed. “Or is this the worst possible time?”

She opened her eyes, checking that he wasn’t joking.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Come sit with me.”

He settled onto the mattress next to her, immediately out of his element. She tugged his arm around her shoulders and he awkwardly petted her head. “Is that—Is this right?”

She snuggled into his side. “That’s great, Fen. Keep doing that until I fall asleep.”

And he did, he stroked her hair until she was snoring against his chest and still after.

As he did so, he wondered when he’d stopped hating Hawke because she was a mage and started caring for her as a person, because he did not recall allowing that to happen.

He was still wondering when he drifted off to sleep with Hawke in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Vishante kaffas' is Tevene for 'You shit on my tongue', according to the Dragon Age wiki. Just fyi.  
> Anyway, any thoughts? Opinions? Questions? Lemme know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We'll find the perfect patch of sun_  
>  _and she'll breathe the fire out of her lungs_  
>  Southern Comforting - JPNSGRLS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so non-graphic discussion of what happened in the last chapter, as well as reference to Fenris' past.  
> And spoiler, heads up: some consensual sex happens. And you know, some solid plot stuff popping up.

As usual, a key clunking into the lock awoke Fenris. What was unusual was the crick in his neck and the warm, solid presence against his chest.

He blinked blearily, confused at the sight of Hawke curled into his side. Then the previous night’s memories rushed him, and he didn’t hold back the scathing glare for the Templar bringing them breakfast.

It was Knight-Captain Cullen. His hands were empty. His brows lowered at the sight of the two of them in the same bed.

Fenris tightened his hold around Hawke’s shoulders, but that woke her up.

She yawned, pressing her face into Fenris’ collarbone, before she saw Cullen. “Breakfast?”

“I’ve brought news.”

Hawke sat up and Fenris reclaimed his arm. “I’m gonna be honest, I’d prefer breakfast.”

Cullen’s lips twitched into a frown. “You aren’t supposed to sleep in the same bed.”

Anger flared in Fenris’ chest. He could think of plenty of things that weren’t _supposed_ to happen in this hell hole that occurred daily.

Hawke shared his indignation.

“Is that right?” she snapped. “Well send me to isolation again, it’s starting to feel real homey.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Knight-Commander Meredith will be visiting next week.”

“Great. Where’s breakfast?”

“She plans to investigate the climbing rate of abominations.”

Fenris snorted.

Cullen slid his gaze to him. “Something to say, elf?”

He regarded him coolly. “Nothing I’m sure you don’t already know, Knight-Captain.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Hawke crossed her arms. “I guess I’ll put off my plans to summon a demon until next month.”

Fenris stiffened. Not because he believed she had any intention of contacting a demon, but because that had to be overstepping her bounds with Cullen. Blatant disrespect was one thing, but threatening to do exactly what people got killed for was quite another.

Cullen closed the door behind him.

Fenris stood, blocking Cullen from Hawke, which forced his attention to Fenris. Every time the Knight-Captain looked at him he seemed more irritated by his presence, as if Fenris was the one acting out of turn, when it was Cullen who barged into a private room at the crack of dawn and locked himself in.

“Oh, don’t mind him.” Hawke stretched out across her mattress now that Fenris had vacated it. “He just doesn’t trust Templars. Silly, isn’t it?”

“You need to take this more seriously, Hawke. You can’t say things like that to me-”

“If you would get out of my room, I wouldn’t have to say anything to you at all.”

“Knight-Commander Meredith has requested an audience with you during her visit.”

She sat up, waving Fenris out of the way so she could glare at Cullen. “I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter?”

He clasped his hands behind his back, struggling for a sense of formality. “No.”

Her jaw worked like she was trying to free a particularly stringy bit of meat from between her molars. Finally she rose. “If I’m not getting breakfast, I may as well bathe. Move.”

“Breakfast will be served shortly,” Cullen said, remaining at his post in front of the door. “And Templar Bryant reported that he escorted you to the baths last night.”

A shudder ran through Fenris.

“Yeah, he sullied me pretty quick.” She grabbed a fresh robe. “Get out of my way.”

Cullen had the decency to duck his head, ashamed, as he stepped aside.

“So kind, I owe you _so_ much Cullen,” she sneered. He sighed through his nose, not looking at her as she left the room.

She called for Fenris and he followed her out, falling in step beside her.

It was too early for any Templars to be stationed in the bathroom, which eased some of the tension clawing at Fenris’ chest. It came back when Hawke tugged the thin curtain behind her and tossed her robes, one dirty, one clean, over the curtain rod.

“I can wait outside if you prefer.” Yes, they usually bathed at the same time, and they changed in front of each other in their room because they had no choice, but in light of last night, hanging around while she cleaned off felt massively inappropriate.

“If I wanted you gone I wouldn’t have asked you along.” The soft splash of water accompanied her words. “Guard the door.”

“Of course.” That made sense. She didn’t want anybody interrupting her.

She poked her head out from behind the curtain just to roll her eyes at him. “That’s not why I brought you.”

And that made even more sense, because it had been made apparent that his presence would do nothing to deter a dogged Templar.

“How viable is your escape plan?” she asked from the other side of the curtain.

“I’m sure it could be improved with your input.”

“Uh oh. It must be pretty shit then.”

Fenris leaned the back of his head against the door. Even after factoring Hawke’s assistance into the plan, there were too many variables. He’d never _planned_ an escape before; everything seemed too risky.  The only reason he found freedom the first time was through impulsiveness. He wasn’t thinking when he left Danarius after killing the Fog Warriors. He acted, because that’s all he could do.

And maybe he’d have tried that again, acting without thinking, running around half-cocked without a strategy, but now he had Hawke to consider. He’d accept his own death, if it came down to it, but somewhere along the way her survival and freedom had become a goal.

Luckily for Hawke, her success wasn’t up to him. She was more than capable of fending for herself.

“We’ll make it work,” she assured him when he didn’t reply. “In the next week, preferably. Since Meredith’s going to kill me.”

“ _What_?” He took one step away from the door before stopping himself.

“She’s coming to ‘crack down on the abominations.’” She held her hand out from behind the curtain just so he could see her finger quotes. “And she wants an ‘audience’ with me. She’s gonna call me an abomination and have me killed.”

“Why? You’ve been here a year, she should have forgotten about you by now.”

She barked a laugh as she slipped her clean robe off the rod. “Forget _me_? Never.” She pushed the curtain aside, dressed in the beige robe, darkening on the shoulders as water dripped from her hair. “I had a reputation. People knew they could come to me for help. When I disappeared, they noticed, even if Meredith never announced she threw me in here. My friends have big mouths, so it got out. It made Meredith look bad, especially to those who believe I squashed the Qunari uprising and not her. But releasing a mage from the Circle, and bowing to the demands of civilians, would look even worse. So she’s going to kill me to shut up my friends.”

Well, yes, in that case they’d certainly have to speed up their escape timeline.

“So how many friends do you expect at the escape?” He started listing off the ones she’d mentioned. “The dwarf-”

“Varric’s writing books about my heroism,” she said with a wry twist of her lips.

“The Grey Warden mage-”

“Doctor in Lowtown. A lot of people owe him favours. And again, he’s got a Fade spirit rooming with him.”

He bit back a grimace. “The blood mage, the pirate.” Both powerful, surely.

“And Aveline, Captain of the Guard.”

“Captain of the Guard?” Hawke kept powerful allies. “And not even she could get you out of here?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? People loathe mages.”

And for the first time in his life Fenris felt a pang of guilt at being part of that generalization.

“So that’ll be five, but I don’t want them coming in the tower, in case Anders—Justice, specifically—just blows the whole place up.”

“What would be the problem with that?” As long as they were out before then.

She looked at him sourly. “We’ll be leaving dozens of mages here, Fenris.”

He shook his head. “Of course.” He’d only been thinking of the Templars that would perish, but it would be the mages trapped in their rooms with no means of escape.

Her lips were still pursed, deep in thought.

“It’s going to be a stretch just getting ourselves out,” Fenris said gently. Of course the Champion wouldn’t just want to save herself, but they didn’t have the resources or time for a full rescue.

Not that he particularly wanted all these mages running free in Kirkwall, anyway. If there was some way to keep them separated from society but not at the mercy of Templars, that would be ideal.

“I know,” she groaned. She shoved her wets bangs out of her face. “C’mon, we’ll strategize over breakfast. It better be waiting for us.”

There was food left on each of their beds. Hawke ate hers as ravenously as always while they discussed his hazy plans. She made tweaks here and there, usually for a bigger reward but a greater risk. He wasn’t surprised.

Varric would be visiting tomorrow, so she’d slip him a note with their plans and ask for her crew’s help. Fenris expressed concern that Varric wouldn’t be able to respond with specifics, like where he might stash the supplies or horses for Hawke and Fenris once they escaped. She told him not to worry about it.

When breakfast was a distant memory and they’d exhausted all avenues of escape, Hawke decided they should go to the library so they wouldn’t raise suspicion staying holed up in their room all day.

Fenris hesitated. “Did you… want to talk?”

She laid a hand against her chest in faux shock. “You want me to talk _more_? Maker, what did they put in the water today?”

He leveled a look at her. “I meant about last night.”

“We did talk,” she said. “Last night. This place is a living nightmare, I’m a vulnerable dragon, yada yada. What else would you have me say?”

Anything. Something. She must have a system of dealing with it on her own by now, but skipping past it with a shrug, like it was routine, like it was normal and expected made him squirm in discomfort.

He’d watched countless other slaves do the same at Danarius’ estate, not to mention Fenris himself. After Danarius ‘invited’ Fenris to his chambers, or offered him up to important guests staying the night. Fenris would have to get up the morning after, wipe himself off, and go about his day like nothing had happened. Like he wasn’t soiled. Like his chest wasn’t fiery with rage at the indignity, at the—the _violation_ that occurred in the name of passion. Or power. He could never figure out which.

Did he really want Hawke to talk, or did he want to finally spill his guts?

Did he just want to make her misery all about him?

He rose from the bed. “If you don’t want to discuss it, that is of course your prerogative.”

She stared out the window for a long moment. The sea rolled just beyond their reach, huge and unyielding, the waves endlessly pounding the shoreline with no regard for the people who used its might to sail between lands.

“It’s just—it doesn’t have anything to do with me,” she said, disgust dripping from her words. “It’s what he wanted, what he demanded. I had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t my decision. I had no say. There was nothing I could do.”

She said it like a mantra. This was how she powered through her days like a tidal wave, unstoppable. And yet-

“You don’t believe it,” he said quietly. She raised a dangerous eyebrow. He continued anyway. “Of course it’s his fault, but you could’ve stopped him. You’re stronger than he is, more powerful in a real way. You could kill him before he even thought about screaming for help. But it’s the ‘after’ that stops you. The consequences of your defense.”

He stopped talking and the room remained silent. He’d done exactly what he’d told himself not to; make her pain about him.

He swore. “I apologize, I overstepped. I didn’t mean to—I’m projecting, I’m sorry.”

She was quiet, actually taking a moment to think, which unnerved him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t presume to know how you feel-”

“Good. Don’t,” she said, lips barely moving. Fenris couldn’t do more than swallow past a dry throat, unwilling to disrupt the tension-thick air around him. “But you’re right.”

“Oh?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t even tamp down my magic because he _knows_ that I won’t kill him.” Her fists clenched. “I could but I _can’t_ and there’s this—this fire in my chest that I can’t breathe through. Like I’m choking on the fumes of pure, concentrated hatred.”

“Yes.”

She met his eyes, saw him agreeing with every word. “Because I can’t do anything. I can’t yell, I can’t hit, I can’t do magic, but _he_ can do whatever he wants. So I just lay there like an idiot, like some helpless damsel, while the fire _chokes_ me.”

He nodded fervently, leaning forward. His own anger rose as she spoke, calling to her matching fire.

“And Cullen always acts like he’s doing me some huge favour by treating me like an actual person, when he hates mages as much as the rest of the Templars, because he keeps letting this happen!” She waved her arms at the Circle, the forced imprisonment under the guise of safety. “Trapped like everybody else, caged like animals to torture or fuck. And then-” she let loose a harsh laugh “-they have the pure unmitigated gall to say that this is for my own good, as if _I’m_ the one that can’t control myself!”

“When control is _all_ you can do,” Fenris said. “Because you know you’re stronger, but they have power in numbers. You could stop them if they’d give you a fair fight.”

Her eyes were wild, chest heaving, cheeks red. “I want to fight. I was made to fight. I was made to _win_.”

“You will,” he said.

Her fingers flexed. “ _We_ will.”

There was a tight pause as they held each other’s heated gaze.

Then they were on each other. He cradled her jaw, her fingers raked through his hair. Their lips met, teeth clashing, tongues brushing. Like metal striking metal. Scorching sparks.

He pulled away. “Hawke-”

She whirled them around and pressed him up against the wall. “Fenris.”

She was panting, matched by his own heaving breaths, he was surprised to note. Her eyes were blazing, hands determined. 

“Please.” It was an order. For what, he wasn’t sure. “Can we—can we just—“

He nodded, said in a rush, “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want.” Her fingers twisted in the cloth at his shoulders. “I want the feeling of him off my skin. I want intimacy without violence. I want the _choice_.”

Her heart pounded against his.They were tucked behind the open door, hiding them from passerby but not drawing attention to a closed door in the middle of the day.

“You have it,” he assured her. “You have the choice.”

Her dark eyes bore into his. “Do you want to?”

He had not expected the question.

Perhaps he looked confused because she started listing reasons why he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. “I’m an annoying mouthy mage. I’m a fallen hero. I’m-”

“ _Hawke_ ,” he cut in.

He wanted whatever she was offering. Some way to make up for last night, to make her feel at all better about the situation. A release of frustration at their forced defencelessness. A middle finger to this hell, where the luxury of comfort was all but forbidden.

“Yes,” Fenris said. “If you want to… yes.”

She caught his lips again. He wrapped a tentative arm around her waist and she pressed in close, only their cotton robes separating their overheated skin.

She cupped his face, fingers grazing the tattoos on his neck.

He flinched at the pressure.

Their lips parted with a smack. “Your tattoos?” She backed off.

He drew her back by the hips. “It’s fine.”

“But they hurt? What’ll help?”

He paused. “Losing my robe.”

She grinned. Wild, rakish. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, Big Dick.”

So he tugged his robe over his head, leaving him in just his underwear. A lightness overcame him, free of the inescapable scratch of his robe. She reached out, drawing back just before her fingers reached his tawny chest. “Will it hurt?”

He shook his head. He didn’t care. “Don’t do soft. Use hard pressure.”

Her breath washed over his chest as she laughed. “That’s all I’ve got.”

She flattened her palms on his chest and then dug her nails in. His tattoos stung with exquisite intensity. Different than the burn of Templar’s magic-numbing powers, nowhere near the teeth-grinding scratch of a light touch.

His eyes were closed when she kissed him again, lost in the feeling of her hands on his skin. She repositioned them so she was against the wall and hiked her leg around his hip. He grabbed her knee, keeping her balanced, and she canted her hips forward. They were both moaning as they kissed.

He trusted her to tell him if she wanted to stop, if she changed her mind, if it was all too much, but he kept a close eye on her anyway, watching for any sign she was about to call it off. He found none.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me,” she panted.

“Anywhere specific?”

She lifted a brow before pulling her robe off. Before Fenris got distracted he peeked into the hallway to check no one was around. An interruption now would be unacceptable.

Hawke dragged him back to her, to her bony shoulders and plump breasts, scarred skin and jutting hipbones.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ,” he breathed before hooking both her legs around his waist.

He obeyed her wishes, dragging his hands along every piece of skin he could reach. Pressed their chests together as he grabbed her ass and gripped her thighs. Kissed her neck as he fondled her breast, rolling her hard nipple between his fingers. Asked if this was alright, or that was okay, and she’d nod, drawing him closer with greedy hands.

“Fen, _oh_ -” She bit her bottom lip, but no matter what she was doing, Hawke was not a quiet person.

He covered her mouth with his own, but as soon as her hand slipped into his underwear he forgot about being quiet and groaned against her lips. Even with his cock she wasn’t soft, but sure-fingered and confident. He dropped his forehead against hers as she stroked him, wincing at how _good_ her fingers felt against him.

“You okay?”

He nodded, swallowing a groan that sounded like a choke.

She pulled him from the cloth and guided him forward.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Are _you_?”

“Still yes.”

“Then yes.”

He pushed her underwear aside to reveal her glistening and pink. When he brushed her clit with two fingers, her nails dug into his shoulder so deep he was sure she broke skin.

“Hurry up.”

He guided himself in, shushing her.

“Don’t shush me-”

“I know, but _shh_ …” He trailed off, panting into her damp neck as he entered her, slick and warm.

She tilted her hips up and he adjusted his grip on her sweaty thighs before rolling forward, grinding against her. A steady pressure. Satisfyingly close.

He kissed her, trying and failing to cover their combined moans. The hand that wasn’t keeping her against the wall roamed freely, causing every gasp and hitch in her breath. She gripped the back of his neck with one hand, her other palm splayed between her shoulder blades, pressing him close.

Finally he drew his fingers down her chest, across her stomach and settled at her clit. She bucked into his hand, head thrown back, teeth embedded in her bottom lip.

He came before she did. But not by much.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, still rubbing his thumb against her swollen clit. The noises escaping her throat grew increasingly high-pitched until her mouth fell open and a tight whine came out as she clenched around him.

A few moments passed of them just breathing, skin slick, hearts pounding next to the other’s.

“I knew you were bluffing about not missing being touched,” she murmured.

A surprised snort escaped him. His lips brushed her neck as he replied, “To be fair, you were speaking of a very different sort of touch.”

Then they heard the clunk of boots coming down the hall, and Fenris set Hawke on her feet before passing her robe to her and quickly throwing on his own.

A Templar stopped at their doorway, one Fenris didn’t recognize, which narrowed it down to any of them except the one who’d forced himself into Hawke’s bed. He said something about not spending all day in their rooms, and Fenris nodded, not really listening. He wasn’t sure what would happen if the Templar realized Fenris and Hawke just had sex. Was it against the rules or just discouraged? He’d never bothered to check.

Fenris tried to slow his heartbeat, wished away the flush of his cheeks and his mussed hair. But the Templar had barely stopped before he continued down the hall, uninterested in the pair of them.

Small mercies.

Fenris turned back to Hawke and struggled not to fidget. His robe scratched like sandpaper at his tattoos, especially sensitive wherever she’d laid her fingers. Was it his tattoos’ normal temper, or did the magic in her veins call to the lyrium, unsettling it as she unsettled him? Somehow he'd come to care for a mage, and he knew no magic had compelled him to feel this way. It was simply Hawke, with her big mouth and narrow focus.

She pushed her sweaty bangs off her forehead, still leaning against the wall. “So… thanks.”

He struggled for a shred of composure. “I assure you it was a mutually-”

A smile cut her mouth. “I mean for letting me talk about it. I haven’t exactly had the chance to express myself in here. It was a relief to get that off my chest."

“Oh, right. Well, any time."

“Thanks, but if I think about it anymore then I will actually, physically explode, so I'm done discussing it for a while."

“Fair enough.”

She winked. “Though thanks for the other thing too." He rolled his eyes as she walked out the door. "Come on, I believe another trip to the facilities is in order.”

 --

After a quick visit to the bathroom to clean themselves up, they spent the rest of the day at the library, where Hawke wrote her letter to Varric, and then found a book to teach Fenris to read from. When he protested that his literacy wasn’t even close to a priority she waved him off. They’d spent enough time obsessing over escape today, according to her.

The escape that was no longer a dream, but a necessity, despite its high likelihood of failure. They had no choice but to _try_  when the alternative was further abuse and death. Their time was running out and every second spent in the tower was pushing their luck.

Perhaps that’s why Hawke insisted on reading. Despite their earlier activity, tension thrummed through Fenris' system and impatience fed the fire inside him. He was nowhere close as relaxed as Hawke seemed, though with her insistence on teaching him to read, he assumed it was an act. They both needed a distraction from not being able to do anything, and a book served as good a distraction as any.

But that night, locked in their room, Fenris was grasping for something to do. So he stood at the door, not as a guard because that had been proven pointless, but keeping track of the Templars’ routines through the slitted window in the door.

He’d spent most of the two weeks Hawke was in isolation tracking their movement, so he wasn’t getting any new information.

Hawke knew this.

“Go to sleep,” she sighed without opening her eyes.

“No.”

“You’re grumpy enough well-rested, I don’t want to deal with you sleep-deprived. Go. To. Sleep.”

He spent ten more minutes watching the guard posted at the end of the hall, right up until his shift change. An identical Templar came to replace him and Fenris finally slipped into his bed, satisfied that he knew their schedule.

He settled under the scratchy sheets, but kept his eye on the door.

Was there anything stopping Templar Bryant from coming back tonight?

As if reading his thoughts, Hawke said, “He doesn’t usually bother me at night.” Or maybe she just saw him glaring at the door. “He made an exception to make a point.”

Fenris grunted.

“If it’ll make you feel better you can sleep in my bed.” He frowned at her. She smiled tiredly in return. “I can keep the monsters away.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Though he was already swinging his feet to the floor. It seemed she'd passed on her constant desire for touch onto him, which was incredibly annoying. 

“Did you never-?" She shook her head. "You wouldn’t remember. You do know little kids sleep in their parents’ beds when they’re scared, right?”

“I’m not a child,” he said sourly.

She pulled her blanket back and looked at him expectantly.

He settled in beside her despite his protest. He wanted to be near her, which was going to be so inconvenient after they escaped and parted ways.

They squished in tight; the mattress was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. He grumbled and she directed him until his head rested on her chest.

“Isn’t this nice?” Her murmur rumbled against his cheek.

“I’m gonna wake up with a crick in my neck again.”

“Then go back to your bed,” she said lightly. Her fingers tripped through his hair. That was nice, he had to admit. 

He stayed in her arms until morning, when the click of the lock brought him to consciousness and he dragged himself back to his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, "Festis bei umo canavarum" is "You will be the death of me" in Tevene.  
> Secondly, while planning this out, I didn't expect them to have sex at this point in the story, it just happened in the writing process, and it made sense to me. I figured that Hawke would want to take control of her body, and get rid of the memory of the Templar as much as she could, and feel good for once, and of course she craves touch, so... hopefully that all came through in the text.  
> I feel like the tone of this chapter is all over the place, but I'm tired and I spent like the whole day trying to perfect it, so I'm just posting and hoping for the best.  
> Anyway, questions, thoughts, comments- go for it!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I was the match and you were the rock_  
>  _Maybe we started this fire_  
>  _We sat apart and watched_  
>  _All we had burned on the pyre_  
>  Things We Lost in the Fire - Bastille

Hawke was as starved for a kind touch as she was for food and justice, so a few day later her head was resting in Fenris’ lap, and he was playing with her hair as requested. It was getting greasy again, but so was Fenris’ and that hadn’t stopped her from petting his hair last night.

Moonlight poured through the window, the door was locked, and they spoke in hushed tones about everything that could go wrong with the escape. Which, coincidentally, was everything.

But they could only discuss that for so long. When there was a lull in listing all the terrible ways they could die, Fenris’ fingers drew to a halt.

“Buddy,” Hawke said, demanding and light-hearted at the same time.

He adjusted the thin pillow behind his back before continuing his important work. “I was just wondering…”

“Yeah, your dick _is_ kind of poking my neck.”

He jerked back, but she didn’t move. “No it’s not!”

A grin split her face and laughter spilled out.

“You’ve got the _weirdest_ sense of humour,” he said through gritted teeth.

Her laughter subsided and she took hold of Fenris’ hand, not returning it to her head as she was wont to do, but keeping it in front of her face. Inspecting his tattoos, or looking at the dirt under his nails, or memorizing the whorls on his thumb—or just playing with his fingers, he didn’t know.

Mirth still on her lips, she asked, “What were you wondering, Fenris?

He was loathe to break her bright mood, but she’d never let it go if he deflected with ‘nothing’.

“You’re competent, powerful, bull-headed,” he began.

She looked up at him, probably straight up his nose from her angle. He eased back. “Wow, two of those were almost compliments.”

He huffed. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try escaping before now.”

She stopped playing with his fingers. He squeezed her hand before she could pull away. “I only mean to ask, what was stopping you? I stayed with Danarius because… I didn’t know anything other than being a slave. But you had a life. You had Bethany as backup for a time…” He trailed off, regretting the words as they tumbled out of his mouth. “I apologize, I didn’t mean-”

“No, yeah. I get it,” Hawke said softly. “Why did the Champion stay locked up instead of freeing herself?”

“No, no. I misspoke,” he hurried. He did not mean to accuse her of lying uselessly around the Circle when freedom was a short walk away. It was nowhere near that easy, he knew. “I-”

“I’m not offended.” She flipped his hand over and pressed her hand flat against his palm. His fingertips only just poked above hers. They had matching callouses, one from a life spent with a sword and the other with a staff. “It’s not like I’d never _considered_ it. It’s the first thing I said to Bethany when I got here, after not seeing her for three years. But she’d grown attached.”

“To _who_?”

She laughed at his face, twisted up in confusion. “The mages. I’m not the only one who lives here, much as you like to ignore everyone else. She—well, neither of us—had ever seen so many mages at once. She liked that community aspect, despite…”

“The Templars,” Fenris finished grimly.

She nodded, settling his hands under her chin. He stroked her collarbone absently, jutting forth like a ledge. Hawke closed her eyes. “She hated them as much as anybody, but she’d always felt like the Circle was inevitable. She thought escaping would be as futile as the running we’d been doing all our lives. Besides, the kids _loved_ her.”

“If I’m not mistaken, they’re fond of you as well.”

“Yeah, that’s partly why…” She sighed deeply. “After she was transferred, and then died, I felt like she’d want me here. For the kids. For the other mages. And I kind of just… I dunno, I was grieving, I guess. I didn’t feel capable of anything. And then you showed up.”

“What?” He hadn’t expected himself to be involved in this story.

She sat up, twining her fingers through his. He felt locked to her like this, inextricably linked. He didn’t hate the feeling. “You were so pissed. Like all the time.”

“I’ve never heard that particular trait used as a compliment before.”

She grinned. “You reminded me how unfair this place is. I mean, obviously I was… unhappy.” He suspected that was an understatement. “But I got complacent. Days passed in a blink. It felt like I’d always been in this hell. You woke me up.”

He was glad he’d been able to help, but guilty at the same time because half his rage was caused by the simple proximity to so many mages. “You must know that was never my intention. I wanted nothing to do with you.”

For some reason that made her kiss him. She mumbled against his lips, “I hope you want a little something to do with me now.”

Fenris tilted his head, letting the kiss deepen instead of answering.

He’d never met anyone quite like Hawke, and he’d finally decided that was a good thing instead of an irritating quirk.

But whether or not he wanted anything to do with her, he doubted she’d want anything to do with him after their escape tomorrow night. She’d have her crew back, she’d have her life back, and he’d be little more than an unfriendly reminder of her time here.

She broke the kiss, though he chased her lips before he could stop himself.

“Mm, so I was also wondering,” she said. He sighed and she kissed him on the chin, square between his tattoos. “How you escaped? From Danarius.”

He tensed.

She leaned back. “If you want to tell me.”

“I have no qualms about sharing, no. But…”

“Not right now?” She lifted a teasing brow. “Because you want a little somethin’ somethin’ to do with me?”

They hadn’t had sex since the first time, and he didn’t know if she was really offering, so he just scoffed and turned away. “You’re ridiculous.”

It took another minute of her wheedling, but he told her of his escape. How the Fog Warriors had taken him in, how kind they were, how they were the first to ever offer him a life of his own choosing. How as soon as Danarius returned, Fenris fell back under his command and killed them all. Then ran away too late.

If she wanted nothing to do with him after hearing what he’d done, then she should have that choice.

But she didn’t leap away in disgust, as he wished to could do to himself every day.

“Where did you go?”

“I just ran,” he said. “I fought. Stole coin. Fought and ran again when Danarius’ men found me. I had my freedom and I had no idea what to do with it. I never quite figured it out.”

He still didn’t know what he’d do after escaping except get the hell out of Kirkwall.

A smile lighted her lips. “Luckily I-”

A blur zipped through the window and bounced off the wall before clacking to the floor. Hawke sprung from the bed to retrieve it. Fenris was quick to follow, tattoos flashing.

She picked up the projectile: an arrow. She waved at him dismissively when she saw his tattoos. “It’s from Varric.”

Fenris had been wondering how Hawke was going to get news of her crew’s plans.

He peered out the window. The wall surrounding the tower was easily forty feet away and the window was barely wide enough to stick his arm through. “Impressive shot.”

Then Hawke did stick her arm through the window to wave at Varric, though he was hidden from their view. “I only collect the best.”

She retrieved the robe she’d left hanging over the ledge as a marker and then unrolled the parchment attached to the arrow.

Tears immediately sprung to her eyes.

“What’s wrong? Will they be unable to assist?” He peered over her shoulder. The handwriting, Varric’s, he assumed, was thin and loose, almost illegible to him, but he made out ‘ _Dearest Hawke_ ’ at the top.

 “No, I mean yes, I mean—I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet. But look.” She pointed at the bottom of the page. “They all signed it.”

Those he could read easier.

_The law has failed you. We will not. – Aveline._

_We miss you! We love you! – Merrill._

_Those bastards better brace for a storm. – Isabela._

_Soon you’ll have your freedom. – Anders._

“They sound a little too ready for a fight considering you don’t want them coming in.”

She laughed, drying her eyes. “I told them to take down the guards outside. Hopefully that’s what they’re so excited about.”

Well, if they didn’t follow instructions, they weren’t going to be his problem. As long as they followed through on their promises to Hawke in letter; stashing supplies nearby, then she’d would have an easy trip to a cabin readied in the mountains to lay low in.

Hawke clutched the letter to her chest. “It’s happening.  It’s really happening. You ready?”

He scoffed. “Of course.” He cast a look her way. “Aren’t you?”

She nodded immediately, but after a moment added, “I just think I’ve forgotten what freedom tastes like.”

“It’s even better than wine.”

She laughed lightly. “Shit, I forgot about wine. I miss that, too.”

He almost smiled. “You’ll get your wine. Your freedom, too,” he added, as if it were an afterthought.

Hawke leaned his side with a smile. “One more night. Then these Templars are gonna regret ever throwing us in here.”

\--

Hawke left him with writing exercises in the library, though with their escape planned for that night, copying children’s fables was hardly a priority. He was sitting there with a quill in hand, but he wasn’t writing a word, instead imagining a plan of attack for every problem that could crop up so he’d be ready. No surprises.

 She went nosing around for Cullen in hopes she could weasel more information about the building layout from him. Fenris couldn’t imagine him sharing anything useful, but it probably wouldn’t hurt. Cullen gave her an enormous amount of slack.

But the fact that Hawke was supposed to be talking to him made Cullen’s presence in the library even more irritating than usual.

When Cullen ended up standing next to Fenris’ table, he didn’t acknowledge him, only went back to copying the warning story about how dangerous disobeying authority could be.

“Why are you duplicating old fables?”

Fenris bit down on his instinctive retort of asking why Cullen was deigning to speak to him. Instead he said, “Perhaps I’m rewriting them with a truer ending.”

Which would be that authority figures never had your best interests in mind when they tossed out orders like birdfeed. You should flee as soon as you got the chance. That’s the story children _should_ have shoved down their throats, not the drivel he was copying for the sake of practice.

“I didn’t know you were a writer,” Cullen said.

Fenris slammed his quill down and finally looked up at him. “Hawke was looking for you. I’m sure she’d be more pleasant conversation.”

“Yes, she found me.” He hesitated before saying, “I left her with Knight-Commander Meredith.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment, waiting for the words to take on a different meaning. “Knight-Commander Meredith? She’s coming tomorrow.”

“Her schedule changed at the last moment.” He pressed his lips together. “I was not aware of her new plans until she arrived.”

Fenris’ chair scraped the stone floor as he stood. “Where is she?”

He hadn’t expected Cullen to tell him but he said, “The Harrowing chamber.”

On the main floor. Shit. Could he get past the Templars guarding the stairs? Could he fight every Templar he came across and have enough energy to destroy Meredith?

Cullen must have seen the gears whirring because he said, “It would not be wise to wreak havoc while the Knight-Commander is here.”

But that was all Fenris could do. He certainly wasn’t going to sit around the library waiting for news that Hawke had been proclaimed an abomination-

Three Templars flooded through the door. “Back to you rooms, everybody. Abomination.” They sounded bored.

Fenris sent a scathing look at Cullen, tattoos flaring for half a second before he reigned them in.

Mages filed obediently out of the room, but Fenris was frozen, flipping through dwindling options slipping through his fingers like sand. They were going to kill her. They were going to kill her.

That was not the plan.

Cullen would’ve touched his shoulder if Fenris hadn’t snapped away. “To your room,” he said quietly.

“I will not!” The fire in his chest burned brighter than the first day he was shoved into a mage robe. He’d been outraged then, but now terror licked up his sides. He’d promised Hawke safety. He’d promised her freedom, peace of mind, a reunion with friends.

He glared at Cullen. “You know she’s not an abomination.”

“You don’t even know it’s Hawke-”

He swore in Tevene. “Of course it is. Why do you think Knight-Commander Meredith wanted to see her?”

He lifted a brow. Carefully, restrained and quiet, he said, “Why do you think I told Hawke about the impending visit?”

Fenris stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Don’t cause a bigger scene than you already have,” Cullen continued. “I will escort you to your room and then I will handle this. I don’t want Hawke punished any more than you do.”

‘Punished’ as if the worst she’d receive was isolation or a lashing. Death was not a punishment. It was a solution.

“You’ll handle it?” Fenris asked incredulously. “Like you handle the behaviour of all the Templars under your command?”

He bowed his head, perhaps a reflex, because he immediately corrected the lapse with puffing out his chest. “There is only so much I can do-”

“And you do none of it. I will not leave Hawke’s life in your hands when you have failed again and again with the responsibility.”

The library was empty, none of the hushed whispers or turning pages remained to disrupt the pure silence. One Templar hung in the doorway. “Boss?”

“You’re dismissed,” Cullen said. “I’ll be sure the elf gets to his room.”

He shrugged, armour clanking, and disappeared into the corridor.

Sending away reinforcement could be the last thing Cullen ever did. It would be too easy for Fenris to reach into his chest and burst his heart.

But death was not a punishment, and Cullen deserved to suffer.

“The longer we argue, the more time the Knight-Commander has to punish Hawke without my interference,” Cullen said quickly. “Allow me to escort you to your room and I give you my word that I will stop her.”

“Your word means shit to me.”

Cullen held his glare for one more moment before striding back to the table Fenris had been working at. He ignored Fenris’ threats as he rifled through his papers. He slammed a sketched map of the tower into view. “What about that? The two of you planning to escape? I could have you both made Tranquil for that—if I’d told anybody.”

Denial was on the tip of his tongue, but Cullen continued, “I told Hawke about Meredith’s visit so you two could put this plan into action. I will not let her die now. I will give her a chance.”

The likelihood of his offer being an elaborate trick was low, but that was still Fenris’ first thought. He only dismissed the notion due to the simple reason that Cullen already had all the power. If he wanted to kill or torture either of them, he could do so without fooling Fenris into trusting him.

He still didn’t, but he was the only one offering even the trick of aid.

“Fine,” he said tightly. “But know this: if Hawke dies, you will follow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chill chapter right before a bunch of action. Escape is forthcoming!  
> Also, I do have it all written, but I edit and polish before posting, and comments make me want to edit faster, so that's a tip if you want chapters up quicker ;)  
> Thanks for reading so far!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sit back, relax, begin_  
>  _It's too early for surrender_  
>  _Too late for a prayer_  
>  _We can't go to hell if we're already there_  
>  Can't Go to Hell - Sin Shake Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: fleeting reference to past rape, as well as some good old-fashioned violence.

As soon as Cullen locked him in his room, Fenris regretted bowing to his will so easily. He should be out there, storming the halls, killing Templars—anything to get to Hawke. The only thing that kept him pacing in the room was what stopped him every other night: the Templars would stop him. If he ran into too many at once, he was done for. And he’d be of no help to Hawke.

Not that he was of any help at the moment, waiting uselessly for Cullen to return with news. She could be dead already, killed before Cullen could intervene. In that case, Fenris doubted Cullen would come back at all for fear of Fenris’ threat, which he would 100% go through with. If Hawke died, Cullen sure as hell didn’t deserve to live.

Just when he’d decided to throw caution to the wind and phase through the door, it opened.

A wall torch backlit Cullen, casting his face in shadow. “I convinced Knight-Commander Meredith to allot a night of observation so no mistakes are made.”

Finally he did something worthwhile. “Where is she?”

“Isolation. Four guards in the cell room, three in the hall.”

“Meredith?”

“Templars quarters. This is all I can do for you-”

Fenris shouldered past him. There wasn't a Templar was posted at the end of the hall like usual. Presumably Cullen’s doing, so he’d have no witnesses to see him letting Fenris out of his room.

Fenris stalked down the hall. “I never needed your help.”

“How did you expect to get through the locked door?” he asked, irritation lacing his tone.

He flicked his hands at his sides, tattoos aglow. “It wouldn’t have been a problem.”

Around the corner, he found his first Templar. His hand was barely on his sword before Fenris shot to his side, shoved a fist into chest and blew his heart to pieces.

The Templar slumped to the ground. Fenris’ hand slipped out with a squelch. He wiped the blood off on his robes and slid the Templar’s sword off his back. Not as big as his usual weapon, but it was still a blade, solid and heavy in his hand. Sharp and deadly, glinting in his blazing tattoos.

He found himself grinning in the reflection.

How he’d missed bloodshed.

“Hey!” Two more Templars came out of the stairwell.

Pain gripped him as they used their powers, but he gritted his teeth past the burn. He wasn't going to let Hawke die just because he could barely breathe through the agony coursing through his tattoos.

He let loose a wild cry and ran down the hall, sword raised high. He took down both shocked Templars with one swing, then hopped over their corpses and descended the spiral staircase.

He didn’t encounter any more Templars until he reached the basement. One guarding the stairs, downed in a moment. And then, as Cullen said, three more guarding the cell room.

Fenris was panting by the time he was through with them. Not exertion alone but fighting against their power that burned the lyrium in his skin as badly as the first day he was branded. He wiped sweat off his brow, leaning against the door.

Four Templars, Cullen said. Four Templars until Hawke. Then they could work together. Fight side by side until they destroyed the phylacteries and were rid of this place forever.

He took took a deep breath and threw the door open.

The Templars were all crowded around one cell, its window hatch open.

Only one spared Fenris a glance. He swore, drawing his sword.

Then they all fell to the ground—no, not fell. More like an invisible hand smacked them to the floor.

Fenris rushed forward.

“Fen!” Hawke crowed. Her face was framed in the window, eyes bright and jaw reddened with a burgeoning bruise. “Hope you didn’t kill all the Templars without me.”

He went through the groaning guards’ pockets for the key ring. “I assure you, there are plenty for both of us.”

The ring jingled with dozens of keys, but the biggest was a cast iron key that matched the lock on the door.

Hawke’s hands and feet were cuffed, attached by a short chain that forced her into a slight hunch. After a few tries, Fenris managed to unlock her chains. As soon as the cuffs hit the floor, she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him solidly on the mouth.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight. He never realized how much he craved her touch until her skin met his, when the needy onslaught came crashing in like a wave.

But this really wasn’t the time.

Hawke broke the kiss but stayed within the circle of his arms as she kicked a fallen guard. “Where are the phylacteries?

He spat out blood.

“I said-” she crouched to touch the toe of his boot “-where are the phylacteries?”

Smoke rose from her fingers and the stench of burnt leather filled the room. The Templar flailed away from her, screaming on the cobblestones as his foot glowed red with fire.

Once, this display of magic would have disgusted Fenris. Just more proof that mages had too much power. But Hawke, at least, knew how to control hers. He had nothing to fear as long as he didn’t cross her, and he had no intention of that.

“Fen, could you?” She nodded at the Templar.

He leveled his sword beneath the Templar’s chin, and his unintelligible screams turned to curses. He stopped writhing, though his leg kept jerking as the fire grew.

“You’ll lose more than your foot if you don’t tell us where the phylacteries are kept,” Fenris said smoothly.

“Fine! Fine! They’re in a cellar, down the hall on the right.” He hiccupped through the pain, tears streaking down his red face. “You have the key. It’s got wards, but you can get past.” He eyed Hawke with terror and disdain.

“Great.” Hawke, still crouched at the guard’s feet, looked up at Fenris. “Kill him.”

“No! Wait!” He squealed like a pig getting slaughtered. “You promised!”

“No, I threatened,” Fenris said.

Hawke lifted a hand to halt the progress of his sword through a layer of neck fat. 

“Your demand for mercy means you get none,” Hawke said. Fenris removed his blade completely. When the Templar swore at her, she set her jaw. “You think I don’t remember you? You were going to watch Bryant rape me on the balcony. Where was the mercy then?”

She left him burning and turned to the next one. Laid a hand on his foot. “You made me beg for food.”

Lightning sparked from her fingertips, leaving the Templar convulsing on the floor.

Onto the next one. “You raped the twelve year old in the room next to mine.”

She left the next Templar’s foot crawling with a harsh white frost creeping up his leg.

“And _you_ raped Bethany.” A gust of air slammed the final Templar into the far wall. To the tune of the guards’ guttural wailing, she dragged him back and flung him into the brick, again and again until his limbs hung like a rag doll’s.

Again, Fenris should be horrified. Disgusted, sickened. This was magic used as he’d always feared. But these Templars deserved it, and all he felt was a deep sense of vindication. He’d never had the chance to get back at his tormentors. Watching Hawke get her vengeance was almost as good.

By the time the guards’ cries finally petered out, the air reeked of burnt flesh, piss, and shit.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes, exhilaration written clear across her face. “Maker, that’s satisfying!”

He smiled softly. “We’ve barely begun, Hawke.”

“And yet so many of them are already dead! What a day.” The grin never left her face. “But we do need to destroy those phylacteries. Come on.”

She held out her hand and he just stared at it. What did she want? The keys? His sword?

“What, you're not scared of me now, are you?” When he shook his head, she rolled her eyes. “Take my hand.”

He did so. Her bony fingers wrapped around his, strong and sure, nothing soft about it. That was Hawke: all or nothing. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said that all she had was hard pressure.

She didn’t sneak quietly to safety under the cover of night. She left a trail of bodies in her wake, slaughtering all those who wronged her.

“Get that look off your face,” she said as she led him from the room.

“What look?”

“Like you wanna hike me up against a wall again. We’re not even half done.”

He spluttered a protest. She just tugged him down the hall.

There weren’t a lot of doors down there, and one was darker than the others and cold to the touch. They both agreed that had to be the one leading to the phylacteries. Hawke halted him before he went through the keys. She muttered under her breath, hands flowing as if through water. The unnatural coolness of the door dissipated.

“First ward down.”

He started shoving keys through the lock.

“What mage would they use to unlock these wards?” It didn’t make sense to rely on mages for a security element so crucial to the phylacteries.

She scowled. “Orsino. Haven’t heard a whiff of him since I got thrown in here. Could be dead for all I know.”

“Last I heard, he was still arguing with Meredith about mage treatment here.” He did not mention that five months ago when he heard that news he’d been firmly on the Knight-Commander’s side of the argument.

Hawke grunted. “He’s not arguing nearly hard enough.”

The lock finally clicked successfully, and they hurried down the cracked stone steps. A ball of fire in Hawke’s hand lit their path. The walls were packed dirt, crumbling at the seams. The air was infused with a dank, earthy smell. He could taste it on his tongue, along with an odd tang of crackling electricity.

There were no more than ten steps before the cramped space opened into a low-ceilinged room.

The walls were lined with vials of deep red blood on splintered shelves. No other protection, not that he could see.

Hawke threw a hand in front of his chest before his foot left the last stair.

She crouched, muttering under her breath again. Slowly, a glowing red ward appeared on the ground. Circles and lines curved across the dirt floor in warning. Her fire spluttered out as she concentrated, leaving only the ward as eerie lighting in the darkness.

“This… might take me a minute or two.” The plan was for her to shatter all the vials with magic. Force push, or lightning bolt or something. She’d kept debating the qualities of different spells, as if the exact manner of how they were destroyed mattered.

“Can’t you just-” he flicked his fingers “-from here?”

Her lips pulled to the side. “I’m not super sure what this ward does, so I don’t wanna splash blood all over it.”

He pulled his bloody sword closer to his side.

Yeah, he definitely wanted to avoid accidental blood magic.

He was about to leave her to it, quietly working her magic, when he heard a noise from the upper level. They’d closed the door, so he had no idea what was waiting for them.

“I’ll guard the door.”

“I’ll be quick,” Hawke said, overlapping with Fenris’, “Take your time.”

They held each other’s gazes for a moment. The compromise of ‘Be careful’ was on the tip of Fenris' tongue, but that wasn’t advice either of them would take.

“Don’t be stupid,” she finally said as a goodbye.

Equally hard-to-follow advice, but he crept carefully up the steps, his tattoos offering a paltry amount of light as a guide.

He kept his breathing low as he approached the door. He didn’t hear anything, but that could mean that whoever was on the other side was as quiet as he.

He weighed his options. If he were to follow Hawke’s order, he would wait for her to join him before facing any Templars that might be on the other side. That would be the smart option.

But he couldn’t hear anything beyond Hawke’s low murmurs and his own faint breath. If there were more than two Templars on the other side of the door, he had no doubt he’d hear panting, the hum of conversation, creaks of armour. He’d expect a pack of Templars wouldn’t wait very long at all to stage an attack against them.

The longer he hesitated, the more time he gave for reinforcements to arrive, fill the hall, and overwhelm him and Hawke.

He could dispatch a few by himself, but he could not afford an ambush.

He threw open the door.

There was only one figure waiting for him.

Knight-Commander Meredith.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Just like magic, I'll be flying free_  
>  _I'mma disappear when they come for me_  
>  _I kick that ceiling, what you gonna say?_  
>  _No one can be just like me any way_  
>  Just Like Fire - P!nk

Fenris had finally grown used to the thin mage robe he had no choice but to wear. It still chafed his skin, but it had faded to a minor irritation at the back of his mind. He barely noticed its complete lack of protection and the unnatural lightness of not being weighed down by his epaulets, breastplate, gauntlets, and shin guards.

That changed as soon as his eyes landed on Knight-Commander Meredith decked out in full, clanking armour, so strong and heavy-looking it made Fenris feel as naked as the first time a mage robe had been forced upon him.

A gleaming broadsword was slung across her back. Not in her hand ready for a fight. Her presence was its own warning.

Her grey-blonde hair was pulled back tightly beneath her red cowl, the shadows cast by torchlight throwing the hard planes of her face into stark relief.

“Fenris. The escaped Tevinter slave.” Her lips curled like a wolf’s.

She shouldn’t know that. The only way she’d have that information was if-

Between one heartbeat and the next Fenris threw himself forward, sliding through the Fade to get to her before she could react.

He failed.

She lifted a hand and he crumpled to the floor at her feet, an unbearable burn sinking into his skin.

“Yes, you killed a few of my Templars like that, didn’t you?” Her voice was crisp and patronizing. “They are but babes compared to me.” Nevertheless, she backed up and released her hold on him.

She left him in a cold sweat, cheek pressed against the dirty cobblestone, until he gritted his teeth to stand.

“If you test me again I will kill you, no matter what your master requests.”

“I have no master,” he snarled.

She tilted her head, as if explaining a simple concept to a confused child. “You should have told somebody you weren’t a mage, Fenris. We would have sent you home months ago.”

He bit down on a retort so hard he drew blood. As if he hadn’t raged against the mage title he’d been stuck with. As if Danarius’ estate was any sort of _home_ to him.

But he managed to shove the outrage down. He had to strategize.

“I didn’t realize you would be so accommodating of a mage.”

“Danarius is willing to handsomely reward the cooperation of the Circle. He misses you.”

Fenris could barely hide his flinch.

If she’d truly spoken to Danarius, it was only a matter of time before he would find Fenris in Kirkwall. He itched to run, as far as he could.

Meredith issued her order with every expectation that he’d obey. “Return to the main floor and you will be escorted back to your master in the Tevinter Imperium.”

So Danarius wasn’t close. He was still leagues away. Fenris had time. Little, but enough that Danarius wasn’t an immediate worry, to obsess over and distract him while facing down the Knight-Commander.

He thought quickly. Meredith had no interest in him, she simply wanted him out of her way so she could kill Hawke. That wasn’t happening.

He’d distract her until the phylacteries were destroyed. Then he and Hawke could deal with Meredith together.

There, that was a plan. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Her nostrils flared when he didn’t immediately trot up the stairs as she’d ordered.

“You will kill the abomination?” Fenris asked.

Her brows lowered like storm clouds. “Do you take me for a fool? You helped her escape.”

“I needed-” he forced a sneer “- _magical aid_ to destroy the phylactery of my blood.”

She returned his look of disgust. “We all make concessions. I wanted to kill her instead of locking her up, and now look what she’s become.”

“So powerful that she’s weak.” He hated himself as he said the words, not because he believed in them but because he _used to_.

He’d believed that while all mages might not be monsters, the majority were, and allowing them to mingle freely in society wasn’t worth the risk they posed. The Circle was an acceptable compromise. Giving them a place to live instead of ridding the world of their evil permanently.

But none of the evil he’d seen during his stay had been perpetrated by mages.

“Like all mages,” Fenris continued. “They’d rather drown in power and take everyone down with them than admit they’re wrong.”

As if to emphasize his point, a thunderous crash rocked the phylactery cellar.

He wheeled, hiding the concern plastered across his face from Meredith.

Smoke and dust billowed from the doorway. Fear seized his chest. Was this Hawke’s intention? Or had she disrupted the ward and got herself blown up in the process?

He only had to worry for a few seconds before a raucous coughing filled the stairwell and Hawke’s hunched form appeared in the smoke.

Meredith drew closer, sliding her sword off her back now that Hawke was a threat. Fenris was almost offended he hadn’t garnered the same precaution. Then he remembered the pain she’d inflicted that drove him to the floor and decided to be grateful she’d lifted that so soon.

He also decided it was best to continue pretending he wanted Hawke dead as much as her. He held his sword at the ready.

“That’s one problem down.” Hawke climbed the stairs, waving the smoke from her nose. “Now we-”

Her gaze swung from Meredith to Fenris, eyes wide.

Fenris winked at her.

Her expression cleared, and she turned her attention to Meredith. With a flick of her fingers, the Knight-Commander was skidding down the hall on her ass.

But she was up in a flash.

Hawke rushed up the remaining stairs to stand beside Fenris. A blue ward flared to life beneath them and he flinched. Hawke laid a hand on his arm. “It’ll protect us.”

As much as he trusted Hawke, he did not love magic being applied to him. His tattoos hummed, glowing though he didn’t ask for it.

“Be careful who you trust, _Champion_.” Meredith sneered the title the same as the Templars did. Like she’d only bestowed it upon Hawke as one last punishment before hiding her away in the Circle, never to be heard from again.

But Hawke never stayed silent for long.

She looked sidelong at Fenris as a fireball sparked to life in her hand. “Is this where I curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal?”

She said it conversationally, with a spark of humour, like the idea that Fenris would turn against her now was laughable. It didn’t occur to him until that moment, when he stood at her side with a sword, and the woman who’d shut her away in this place was threatening that Fenris wasn’t what he seemed, and Hawke was protecting him with a ward and _smirking_ —the trust she placed in him had never sunk in until that moment.

She didn’t even pause to consider that the man who’d stuck a hand in her chest on their first meeting might have lied and manipulated her into helping him escape. She trusted him. Implicitly.

What surprised him even more was realizing that the trust was returned.

Fenris swallowed, the implications of unprecedented amounts mutual trust swirling in his brain, but now wasn’t the time for wary introspection.

“Oh yeah,” he said, just as dismissive. “Time to fight.”

He darted forward to strike Meredith in the side between her armoured plating, but she blocked his blow and then agony overtook him. He fell to the ground, crying out partly from pain but mostly frustration. He didn’t have time for discomfort.

Meredith let out a yelp as Hawke’s fireball hit her face. But she dispersed it in a moment and her eyebrows were barely singed. She sneered at Fenris, who’d made it to his knees but no farther. It felt like his sweat should be sizzling off his skin from how much the lyrium burned.

“Did you sway him with enchanting promises,” Meredith asked Hawke, “or was he so desperate for a new master that he bowed even to you?”

Protected from Meredith’s dampening powers inside the ward, Hawke threw a bolt of lightning that sent her stumbling back.

“Oh yeah, I tricked him.” Hawke’s face twisted just as darkly as Meredith’s. “Just like I tricked the Arishok into killing the Viscount, or turned everybody against you, or whatever the fuck you think I did to warrant throwing me in here!”

“It was nothing personal. You’re a mage.” Meredith swung her sword at Hawke. Fenris finally forced himself to his feet, but not fast enough to stop her. “You belong here.”

Hawke dropped to her knee, blocking Meredith’s blow with her forearm, now covered by a shale-like armour that looked more like a disease than purposeful magic. But Hawke was grinning at Meredith’s outrage.

“That’s _right_.” She knocked her back with a force push. “I’m a _mage_.” A fist of rock flew into Meredith’s gut. “I’m more powerful than you’ll ever be.”

Hawke took an intimidating step forward, one foot out of the ward as she waved her arms in a practiced fashion. Fenris’ arm hairs rose. The air crackled, heavy like before a storm.

Her ward flickered.

“Hawke-”

The ward vanished, as did any whiff of lightning.

Meredith smirked when Hawke shook her hands impatiently, like she could force magic back to her fingertips. “But never smarter.”

She charged, sword pointed at a nearly defenceless Hawke.

Nearly.

Fenris brought his sword across her middle as she passed him. If it had been one of his own swords, whetted to a ringing sharpness, the blow might have cut her in half. The cut-rate Templar blade got nowhere close, but blood still sprayed across all three of them.

Meredith collapsed to the floor, eyes bulging. She dropped her sword, both hands going to the wound to keep her innards from spilling to the floor.

Hawke nodded approvingly. “Nice.”

He’d have replied, or better yet, finished Meredith off, if a fresh wave of pain hadn’t erupted across his skin. He bent over, stars peppering his vision. He swore over Meredith’s call for guards.

Hawke leapt over the pool of blood and put a hand on his back, leading him down the hall with strong hands.

“She’s not dead,” he grunted in protest.

She guided him away from swaying into a wall. “She will be.”

Hawke shoved him into the stairwell. The dizzying pain faded the farther he got from Meredith, and by the time the first Templar appeared on the stairs, Hawke was able to force push him back. They raced over his body, the immediacy of the situation sinking back in. They were so close to escaping.

They burst onto the main level. It was the first time Fenris had been on this floor since his Harrowing. The huge, ornately carved entrance doors stood closed but unguarded. The arched window above looked out across the vast expanse of stars reflecting off the dark, churning sea. Across the room from the doors, two dark, parallel halls led to the Templars’ quarters and holding cells.

The floor in between was in chaos.

Bodies littered the floor, Templar and mage alike. Those alive were still fighting, swords flashing, ice shooting through the air. Templars shrieked horribly at unseeable horrors, mages frantically shoved their hands in front of them with no effect.

Screams sounded from upstairs, more fighting and crashing.

“Did you-?” Hawke began.

Fenris shook his head. “I think your friends came in.”

A scowl twisted her lips.

A few paces away, a child mage shot ice at an approaching Templar.

“Calvin?” Hawke’s voice was strangled with fear.

The redhead turned around, a huge grin plastered on his round face. “Did ya see that, Hawke?”

But he was young, unpracticed. His frozen blast only iced over the Templar’s armour, and it was already cracking as he moved his arms, heavy with a sword.

Hawke shot out a hand and the Templar skidded across the room. She took off after him, tossing over her shoulder, “Watch Calvin!”

It took Fenris a belated moment to realize that she was talking to him.

The boy was still smiling. “Yeah, watch this!”

He set a Templar’s hair on fire. He yelped, but patted it out with his magic-dampening powers soon enough. He was left bald but alive, and furious.

Grudgingly, Fenris threw himself in front of Calvin and stuck his hand into the Templar’s chest. His heart splattered to a stop around his fist.

Fenris whipped around to face Calvin.

“Whoa! Teach me how to do that!”

“This is not a lesson,” he hissed. “You will die if you keep picking fights you’re not powerful enough to finish.”

He frowned, and Fenris realized that what he’d first dismissed as freckles on the boy’s cheeks were actually specks of blood. He hastily wiped his face with his sleeve, much to Calvin’s dismay.

He didn’t know exactly how blood magic worked, but there would be none of it on Fenris’ watch.

“Fen!”

He spun with his sword lifted and caught a Templar’s blade on the way to his back. They clashed, and his tattoos hummed with a deep ache, but it was nothing compared to what Meredith had wrought.

The Templar grunted as he blocked another of Fenris’ blows with his shield. “What’s a mage doing with a sword?”

Fenris’ lips pulled tight and he went for the knees, where there was only loose cloth for protection. The Templar hit to the ground with a sharp cry. With the tip of his sword leveled beneath the man’s chin, Fenris said simply, “I am no mage.”

Then he slit his throat.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“Calvin!” It was Sybille. She stood near the front door, wrinkled forehead in tight concentration as she kept a Templar haplessly confused a few paces from her. “We’re leaving. Come on.”

The Templar broke from her hold and charged at Sybille.

Fenris shot forward and caught him in the spine. The Templar dropped to his knees and Fenris quickly finished the job.

Sybille wiped the sweat off her face. “Thank you. I’m afraid I haven’t done much more than healing magic in many years.”

A fresh stream of horror-filled cries rose from upstairs.

But the main hall was quiet. Across the room, Hawke put her hands on her hips, looking quite smug with the pile of dead Templars around her.

“Sybille,” she said, as if just noticing her. She looked around. “Where’s Tanner?”

A shadow passed over her face. She shook her head. “He didn’t make it.”

Hawke closed her eyes, taking a moment to absorb the loss. Then she threw a hand at the door. “Go. Don’t let his death be in vain. Take Calvin and-”

Templar Bryant shot out from a darkened hall like a hand rising from a grave. He snatched Hawke to his chest and pressed a dagger to her neck.

She flicked her hands, but no magic was forthcoming. Her face twisted in fury, curses flying from her lips.

Bryant ignored her. He jerked his chin at the three of them. “Unless you wanna watch the Champion die, get back to your rooms.”

Calvin stepped forward, hands outstretched. Fenris yanked him back by the arm and shoved him toward the stairs. “Go.”

“But I can-”

“No, you can’t,” Fenris growled. “And I said _go_.”

The fierceness in his voice finally scared the boy into obeying. Sybille followed him to the stairs, even as Hawke yelled at her to forget her safety, to escape while she could.

And that was nice and altruistic and everything, but Fenris wasn’t letting her die so some near-strangers could have a chance at freedom. Besides, it wasn’t like Bryant actually planned to let her live much longer. At least with them gone Fenris would be free of distractions.

“You too, elf,” Bryant said. “You’re both gonna haul ass back to your room where I can punish you more _thoroughly_.”

He jerked his hips into Hawke and she stomped on his foot in retaliation. Fenris rushed forward, but lurched to a halt when Hawke cried out. Blood beaded from Bryant’s dagger.

“You want her to die?” he threatened.

“Nobody’s dying,” came a calm voice from another darkened hall. Cullen stepped forth from the shadows, moonlight bouncing off his shining breastplate. “Step away from her, Templar Bryant.”

“Knight-Captain, this is the abomination. The one Knight-Commander-”

Cullen’s sword slid from its sheath with a _snick_. “I said step away.”

They stared off before Bryant finally backed off with a scowl. “She wants her dead, boss.”

“Shut up.” He turned to Hawke. “Are you alright?”

She wiped the blood off her throat with her sleeve. A shallow scrape, Fenris was relieved to see.

Cullen’s appearance, not so relief-worthy. He might not want Hawke dead, but there was no way he was going to let her waltz out of there like she’d finished her stay at a luxury inn. That would reflect badly on him, the Templars, the Circle. And Meredith would have his head, if she wasn’t dead already.

“Oh, Cullen, my hero!” Hawke’s lips stretched too far over her teeth in an unnerving facsimile of a smile. “How can I ever thank you for not letting a rapist kill me?”

Cullen’s jaw hardened.

She spun around and grabbed Bryant by the throat, hand aglow with fire.

An animalistic cry escaped him. She let him go and he fell to the floor, eyes bulging with terror. His hands went to his throat, but there was no tamping down Hawke’s fire. His cries turned to guttural moans as furious flames engulfed him.

She pointed a fiery hand at Cullen. “I will kill you just as quick,” she spat, venom on her tongue. “I don’t care how “kind” you’ve been to me. You’ve let every other mage here suffer without a thought, and I would burn this place to the ground if there weren’t mages here.”

Bryant’s flesh continued to burn even as his final death gurgles petered out.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Not all mages deserve to be treated-”

“Like _people_? Like they have the same right to be alive as you?” She shook her head and a dangerous grin spread across her face. “What would the Warden say if she could see you now?”

Cullen blanched.

“Yeah, Anders knows her,” Hawke continued. “He told me all about her visit to Kinloch Hold, and how your biggest nightmare was being sweet on a mage.”

Fenris gripped his sword a little tighter. He’d half-convinced himself that Cullen allowed Hawke special privileges purely based on her merit as a Champion. He should’ve known better.

Before Kirkwall, Cullen must’ve been stationed where the Hero of Ferelden had grown up. The Circle that self-destructed, infested with abominations during the Blight.

Knowing Cullen had to face those monsters almost made Fenris smile.

“Which is so funny because so many mages’ biggest fear is just getting _looked at wrong_ by a Templar. Do you see how asinine-” she threw fire balls at his feet and he was forced to skip back “-your fear is?”

“ _Stop_ ,” Cullen said, like he had any control over the situation. He did, actually. He just wasn’t bothering to temper her magic. Did he have that much confidence she wouldn’t kill him, or did he just forget, in the presence of her unrestrained fury, that she could be stopped?

He waved at the bodies strewn across the floor. “Look at the carnage you mages have wrought-”

Hawke flung him into a wall.

She bent over his groaning body and whispered heatedly, “You Templars deserve so much worse. But, yeah, you were nice to me, weren’t you?” She flat-out kicked him in the ribs. “So here’s a tip: I’ll be back to free these mages, and if you try to stop me I’ll kill you.”

For once, Cullen had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

Hawke extinguished the fire in her hand and turned her back on him. Fenris kept his eye on the Templar, not convinced he wouldn’t attack Hawke in a fit of rage. But all he did was sit up against the wall and wipe blood from his mouth.

She looked surprised to see Fenris. “You’re still here.”

“Where would I have gone?”

The smallest of smiles flickered across her lips.

Then a commotion sounded in the stairwell. Fenris swung to face the enemy, sword brandished in front of him.

The door flew open to reveal a man with thin blue lines crackling across his skin like lightning. Faint smoke billowed from his shoulders. Even his eyes glowed, icy white.

Not like any abomination Fenris had ever seen, but that’s what it had to be.

The thing ran at Hawke, and Fenris braced for an attack, but Hawke sighed, “Anders.”

She sagged with relief, but it passed in a moment. Before he could reach them, she stepped in front of Fenris and squared her shoulders. “Justice. I told you to wait outside!”

“ _You are in danger_.” The voice was inhuman. Deep and grating, exactly how Fenris expected a demon to sound. _“These Templars will not escape Justice’s wrath_

Fenris tried to cut in front of Hawke again, because whatever her friend used to be was gone now, even if she couldn’t see it.

“Don’t.” She yanked him back. “He’ll kill you.”

No horror in her tone, just a warning with all the certainty that she’d seen it happen before.

The spirit of Justice, that’s what Hawke had said he was possessed with.

Fenris scowled at the thing. Possession by demon or spirit, it made no difference when this was the result. “I apologize, Hawke. You were right; this thing couldn’t be interested in you. It’s not even _human_.”

The creature blinked and its eyes flipped to brown. The cracks faded to normal human skin. Feral outrage turned to hurt confusion as he looked at Hawke. “You—you didn’t know?” His voice was a man’s, tentative and halting.

Fenris raised his sword just to be safe.

Luckily Hawke had a great reason to deflect the abomination’s line of questioning. She shoved him toward the front door. “We’re leaving. Who else ignored me and came in?”

“Uh, Isabela and Varric.” He stumbled over a Templar’s leg as Hawke pushed him to the door, obviously distracted by the dozens of other bodies strewn across the floor. “There was a woman, she said a Templar had you at knifepoint?”

Fenris kept a close eye on Anders as Hawke stalked over to the stairs, presumably to round up the rest of her crew.

“Yeah, he’s the one over there with a melted face. Miraculously, I can handle myself.”

Before Hawke reached the stairs, a dark-skinned woman in a short white tunic and thigh-high boots blew into the hall. Varric followed closely with a crossbow in his hand.

The woman, who had to be Isabela, grabbed Hawke in a hug as soon as she noticed her standing there. “Maker’s ass, Hawke, you look dreadful.”

“That’s not new,” she dismissed with a smile, arms wrapped tight around her friend. But soon enough she was pushing her away, and reaming them out for stirring up a panic.

Varric winced. “Sorry, Hawke. We never got your signal, and Anders was getting real riled up-”

“So you decided to tear in here and free all the mages from their rooms?” She was talking to the three of them but glaring at Anders. “People who’ve never used an attack spell in their life?”

“Will you get out?” Cullen interrupted with a shout. He’d barely managed to stand up.

Varric fired a warning shot that struck the wall next to his ear.

Hawke pushed Isabela and Varric to the exit, picking her way over fallen bodies. “No, you’ve all done quite enough, I think.”

She whipped open the front door open and waved them out.

“I didn’t mean-” Anders began as he passed her.

“It doesn’t really matter what you _meant_ to do, when death and destruction is the result.”

Fenris joined her at the door, but she made no move to follow her friends out of the tower. Just stared at the dead mages on the floor. He could guess what she was thinking, but like he’d told her last week: they didn’t have the resources to stage a full rescue, and this was proof of that.

He inclined his head toward hers. “Hawke. You’re of much better use to them free and alive.”

He did not tell her that the surviving mages would be alright. He had to wonder if any would be left alive after tonight, if the Knight-Commander wouldn’t call it a wash and invoke the Right of Annulment, or perform the Rite of Tranquility on all of them.

But that wasn’t his problem. And it wouldn’t be Hawke’s fault if it happened.

“Hawke, reinforcements!” A reedy voice shrieked from the main gates.

Fenris took her hand. “We have to-”

She was already running, dragging him behind her.

The salty night air hit him like a wall and he inhaled it in a rush.

Hawke said she’d forgotten what freedom tasted like. Right now, freedom tasted like salt. Freedom looked like the endless expanse of stars above him, stretching in every direction. Freedom felt like burning lungs and the cool bite of wind as he ran full speed away from the tower.

It felt like Hawke’s hand in his, squeezing tight enough to crush bone.

They joined Isabela, Varric and Anders outside the main gates, along with two other women; a wide-eyed elf and a heavily armoured woman with a sword and a shield—the blood mage and the captain of the guard.

“Oh, the good ones.” Hawke’s comment might have been teasing if the words didn’t come out as sharp as Isabela’s daggers.

Her companions slowed down but she kept running, away from the as yet far-off troop of reinforcements.

Hawke wiped fresh blood off her neck and tossed over her shoulder, “Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that how Templar magic works?? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Let's just go with it.  
> Anyway, two more chapters left! And then I think I'm gonna write an additional epilogue-y chapter that will probably bounce through a couple of years after this whole debacle.   
> As always, feedback is appreciated! Action scenes are so much more work than witty banter, who would've guessed?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _1, 2, 3 even when you get tired_  
>  _Just keep one foot in front of the other_  
>  _There's no race, no ending in sight_  
>  _No second too short, no window too tight_  
>  Two of Us On the Run - Lucius

They split up on their way out of Kirkwall. Less conspicuous, easier to travel silently in two smaller groups than one bumbling pack of seven.

Fenris and Hawke cut through backstreets with Varric and Merrill.

The goal was to get out of the city, and into the neighbouring forest, as quickly and as quietly as possible. But every time they had to stop to check that the coast was clear, or pause around a corner to hide from passing drunkards, Merrill was whispering in Hawke’s ear, like they weren’t in the middle of running for their lives.

And this late at night, it wasn’t only the Templars they needed to be worried about. Bandits, coteries, the aforementioned drunkards. He couldn’t imagine Kirkwall’s crime problem had improved while he was locked up.

Everything seemed disconcertingly similar, actually.

The city reeked of the same desperation and echoed of the same late-night hollers. He swore the same trio of empty barrels were tucked behind a garment shop. Five months in the Circle and not a thing had changed. The city kept chugging on without him, and would continue to once he left for good.

Fenris caught the middle of Merrill’s and Hawke’s conversation. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t visit.”

That’s right, Merrill was a mage as well. A _blood_ mage. If anyone should’ve been in there—but he couldn’t wish that upon her, not even in his own head. She lived in the alienage, anyway. He’d passed through it a few times; it was barely better than the Circle.

“Was it very awful?” she asked Hawke.

Fenris tossed a look over his shoulder and Hawke caught his eye. How much would she tell them? He’d asked how much they knew while she was writing Varric the letter, and she’d scoffed and said she couldn’t worry them with the truth. And now wasn’t the best time either, but he couldn’t imagine her downplaying the atrocities for long.

“The food was,” she replied.

Merrill giggled behind her hand, and then they were on the move again.

They made it out of the city shortly after, away from prying eyes who could tip off the Templars who’d be searching for them soon enough.

Only a moon-streaked plain separated them from the forest they were heading to. Their pace slowed, a shared relief in the air. They were out of the city and hadn’t seen a single Templar. They’d probably all been called to the Circle to deal with the remaining mages, tend to the wounded Templars, to Meredith, if she’d survived.

For a fleeting moment Fenris wondered how the hell Cullen was going to explain himself, but he quickly decided he didn’t give a rat’s ass about that man’s fate.

A rush of whispers rose from behind him and then Hawke said, “Fenris, you know this is Merrill, right?”

He looked back at them with a frown. “Yes. The blood mage.”

She rolled her eyes at Merrill. “There, properly introduced. Happy?”

Merrill’s face lit up. “You talked about me?”

She squeezed her shoulder. “Of course I did. I missed you. All of you.”

“Even the morons who messed up your escape?” Varric asked, half-joking. “I really am sorry, Hawke.”

Her lips tightened. “If I didn’t expect you to come stampeding in like druffalo, I wouldn’t know you very well at all. I just didn’t expect such a massive disaster.”

A few moments passed with just the sound of the soft scrape of grass underfoot. Then Varric said, “I think there were more Templars downed than mages.”

She looked over her shoulder, like even now she wanted to race back there and free the rest of the mages. “More were on their way.”

Varric sighed, nothing more to say. Merrill blathered on to fill the silence until they reached the forest.

They stopped a few paces into the trees, waiting for the other three to catch up. Fenris leaned impatiently against a trunk while Hawke mentioned, oh yeah, Knight-Commander Meredith was there, that’s why they were late. By the time she finished recapping the fight, three figures could be seen in the distance.

“Finally,” Fenris huffed.

The horses for Hawke and Fenris were stashed nearby, and once they reached them, the two would travel alone to a cabin where they could lay low for a few weeks. But they couldn’t leave until Hawke had the chance to say goodbye to her friends.

Hawke sidled up to him. “You can go wherever you like, you know.”

“Yes, I noticed the lack of four walls pressing in from all sides some time ago.” His response was cooler than he’d been with her in a month, but if she wanted him to leave he wasn’t going to argue and make her uncomfortable with his desperate desire for her company. Might as well start closing himself off now. Try to, at least. He didn’t exactly want Hawke’s last memories of him to be cold and unfeeling.

“You don’t owe me anything. You could leave, if you wanted.”

It’s not like he really had the choice, he reminded himself. “I will have to.”

She let out a startled, “Why?”

“Meredith alerted Danarius to my presence here. I can’t stay.”

Her breath left her in a surprised, “Oh.” She watched the rapidly approaching trio of her companions, where his gaze had been the entire exchange. “But you’ll stay the night?”

More an order than a question.

“That’s what I planned.” One night to rest, to make sure Hawke had everything she’d need in the cabin alone. Though the thought of abandoning her in the woods after all they’d been through felt more than a little ungrateful.

He finally inclined his head toward her, a question on his lips.

But then Anders was jogging up to them, eyes on Hawke. So she abruptly turned tail and announced they needed to get to the horses.

They followed a narrow trail carved through tall, stretching trees, and fell into smaller groups again as they walked up a gentle incline.

Fenris and Aveline ended up in the middle, between Hawke and Merrill up ahead and the other three trailing behind. Aveline was blessedly silent, more interested in making sure they didn’t get ambushed than with conversation, as was Fenris.

She carried herself like a true leader, and that she was: captain of the guard. Fenris had been impressed that Hawke held such important company, though confused that the captain of the guard kept such close confidence with the Champion. From the whispers he’d heard, and from Hawke’s stories, he’d gathered that little of what she did was legal. But Hawke told him that her family had met Aveline while they were fleeing Ferelden during the Blight. Aveline had been a refugee, same as Hawke, and Hawke helped her get her position in the guard.

Hawke had stumbled onto all her friends when they needed help the most, and she hadn’t let them go.

Aveline drew him out of his thoughts, saying, “I don’t anticipate any trouble. I think you can put your sword away.”

He’d had it hiked over his shoulder, flat side down, since they’d made it out of Kirkwall.

“Funnily enough, this mage robe didn’t come with a scabbard.”

“Of course.” She pointed ahead. “Luckily we’ve left armour with your horses, as well as a sword. Hawke mentioned you like them as tall as you are?”

“She did? When?”

“In the letter she gave to Varric.”

He hadn’t read it. It was long and her handwriting wasn’t very good when rushed. Hawke had given him the gist, which did not include mentioning his weapon preferences to her crew so they could find him a sword he liked.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “Well, we did, so you better appreciate it.”

“Yes.” After a moment he added, “Thank you.”

Aveline nodded. “Any friend of Hawke’s is a friend of mine. We’ll do whatever we can to help get your life back together.”

“That’s…” Guilt rushed at him for no explicable reason. He didn’t know how he’d expected Hawke’s crew to treat him, but a gracious welcome like he’d been one of them from the start hadn’t struck him as a possibility. But he had to leave, and Aveline was only being polite. “That’s very generous,” he finally said.

Footsteps sounded from behind. Anders was shortening the distance, looking straight through them. It wasn’t a mystery where he was heading.

“Anders?” Aveline stopped him. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I just wanted to speak to Hawke.”

“We’ve almost reached the horses,” she said.

“I know but-” Anders stopped, but Fenris knew why he wanted to talk to her now. The rest of them were supposed to leave Hawke and Fenris alone in the cabin for a while and continue with their routines in the city so that nosy Templars couldn’t follow any of Hawke’s known associates to their hiding spot. This was the last chance Anders would have to talk to Hawke for weeks.

Fenris’ lips twitched with a smirk.

Anders narrowed his eyes. “Is something funny, elf?”

“Not at all.”

Anders made to move past them, so Fenris held out a hand to block his path. “I wouldn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You must know she doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

He shook his head, like he must have heard wrong. “Why would I know that?”

“She’s clearly been avoiding you.”

“She’s been locked away in a tower for a year, that’s not _avoidance_ -”

Fenris countered with a quiet, hard, “Obviously I meant tonight. Because of you, dozens of mages are dead. She’s pissed.”

“I was helping them escape.” His insistence came with no correlation to reality.

Fenris shifted the sword on his shoulder, looking the man over for any crack of white-blue light that might appear on his skin. “You didn’t help anybody. That demon you have-”

“The spirit of _Justice_.”

“-whatever you want to call it, is obviously no better than a demon for all the control you have over it.”

“Oh!” Merrill’s voice came from around the bend. “Here are the horses.”

Anders shot Fenris a final dirty look before shouldering past him to Hawke.

Fenris grudgingly let him pass. If the abomination wanted to further enrage an already angry Hawke, then he could deal with the consequences.

Varric and Isabela caught up to him and Aveline.

Isabela lifted a brow in a manner much too familiar considering he’d yet to speak one word to her. “Jealous?”

“Of what?”

She laughed. “Come on, everyone know Anders has a thing for Hawke.”

“Everyone but Hawke.” Fenris’ barely-concealed smugness only made her smirk grow. In an attempt to wipe it off her face, he added, “The fact that he’s an abomination is reason enough for me to dislike him.”

Much better than any non-existent romantic rivalry.

Varric hefted his crossbow over his shoulder. “He’s not technically-”

“And I’m not technically a mage,” Fenris interrupted. “But I still got sent to the blighted Circle.”

“Okay, you got me!” Hawke’s voice cut clear as day through the trees. Fenris could imagine the sight of her just by her tone. Eyes narrowed but wild, fingers clenched like they were itching for a neck to strangle.

Fenris shot a pointed look at Isabela. “I warned him.”

“It’s not fine and I’m not okay!” He followed Hawke’s voice up the path. “I told you to wait outside. But you come in anyway, _obviously_ , because you had the chance to kill Templars. Fine! But then you decide to free the mages. As if that never occurred to me, as if there wasn’t a reason I decided against it.”

He ducked off the path to find a small clearing with two bored horses, Hawke, Anders, and Merrill, half-hiding behind a tree.

Hawke’s robe was a smouldering pile of ash a few paces from where she stood.

So for the first time since he’d known her, she was wearing something other than the ugly beige robe every mage in the Circle wore. She was half-dressed in black leather leggings and a matching tunic, both a little loose.

It appeared that she’d abandoned dressing in favour of poking Anders in the chest.

“I know, I know. It was a bad idea-” Anders was saying

“That’s the problem. Justice doesn’t plan, he doesn’t think ahead. He acts on pure emotion. And you don’t stop him.” She shook her head. “You’d think, between the two of you, there’d be at least one brain in that body!”

Anders hung his head. “I—I’m sorry.”

Then Hawke noticed the rest of them had watching and she shoved him away, not hard, but enough for him to stumble.

“I didn’t want to do this right now, Anders,” she said tightly, roping the anger back under control. “I just escaped the fucking Circle. I’m… _rattled_ enough without you demanding to talk to me.”

She’d been zealously happy after escaping the isolation cell and killing those first Templars. Wild but _ready_ , even when Meredith showed up. But then there were all those fallen mages, and Cullen acting like she owed him something. And Fenris could tell the anger wasn’t fun anymore, it was just roaring.

This wasn’t the glorious escape to freedom either of them had been expecting.

“Fenris, can you get your armour on so we can go?” Hawke jerked a thumb at a bulging burlap sack on the ground.

He was quick to obey, not only because she was impatient to leave, but because as soon as Aveline mentioned the armour waiting for him the robe chafed like never before. He didn’t need it and would never wear it again.

He whipped off the robe and it joined Hawke’s robe of smoking cinders. She tilted her staff in its direction and the fire started anew.

Anders kept up a steady stream of apologies to Hawke as she finished dressing.

Fenris stuck his hand in the bag and put on the first thing his hand touched: a pair of leather breeches. Pants, at long last. He smoothed the heels of his palms down his thighs, already feeling more in control.

Then he noticed the unnatural silence that had taken hold of this group.

They were all staring at him. His bare chest, lined with tattoos.

“What?” He grabbed a pair of heavy boots, not a choice he’d have personally made, but fine for now.

“ _Elgar’nan_ ,” Merrill muttered in shock. “Those aren’t Dalish, are they?”

“No.” He shoved his feet into the boots, tossing a look at Hawke. She’d told them about his weapon preference but not his past?

When he saw her, decked out in armour, he forgot all about his question.

He’d never been able to picture Hawke as the Champion, kicking ass and taking names in a flowing mage robe with no more protection than a blanket except against magic.

But she was wearing real armour, sparse but effective, a fur collar making her shoulders look broader, her right arm covered by a dark iron vambrace, finishing off in a clawed gauntlet that looked sharp enough to gauge.

Fenris could picture it now.

“That’s a good look,” came out of his mouth, throat a little dry.

She smirked.

“So is that,” Isabela cut in, eyeing Fenris’ chest.

Fenris found a tunic and tugged it on. “Lyrium tattoos from a Tevinter magister,” he said shortly. “Former slave master.”

He tugged the chest plate on and pulled the straps around his ribs so tight they’d bruise. Comfort, pure comfort, after months of that fluttery robe.

“Aw, come on,” Hawke complained. “It took me three months to get that story,”

He didn’t bother gauging her companions’ reactions to his identity.

He pulled on loose vambraces that clanked into the gauntlet cuffs and scratched his tattoos when he moved his arms. Not ideal, but he’d rather wear sandpaper than that mage robe.

A sword in a scabbard was tucked into the saddle bag of the horse closest to him. The longer it took him to unsheathe it, the bigger his grin grew. The metal glinted in the moonlight, a long, wide blade that looked sharp enough to cleave through bone.

He swung it through the air, testing its weight. The sword felt like an extension of himself more than the stolen Templar sword ever did.

Hawke chuckled. “I think he likes it.”

Fenris forced the look of exaltation off his face and returned the blade to its scabbard. “I very much appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Yes, and thank you for…” Hawke waved a hand.

Isabela lifted a shoulder. “Fucking up a peaceful escape?”

Hawke threw an arm around her neck and tugged her into a hug. “You guys helped us get out. I’m grateful.”

“You know you don’t have to thank us, Hawke,” Varric said.

“Oh, so you don’t want a hug before we leave?”

He pointed a stubby finger at her. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Get over here.” He waved her over and she went through the rest of them as Fenris mounted a horse.

She kept her ire well-hidden until she got to Anders.

Her lips pulled into a thin line that she tried to pass off as a smile. “I _am_ happy to see you again, Anders.” She flicked her gaze to Fenris, maybe unwittingly, because that left Anders glaring at him. She sighed. "We’ll talk more later.”

He murmured something, hands lingering on her shoulders.

Hawke stepped away. “Yeah. I am.”

She climbed onto the other horse and she said her final farewell to all of them. Fenris gave a silent nod in thanks.

Then they were off. He followed her on the narrow path, their horses darting through the trees, hoof beats clopping against packed dirt. Moonlight streaked through the darkness, cutting through high tree boughs.

He didn’t ride often, and when he did it was on stolen horses, fleeing for his life. He’d never experienced the freedom other people talked about when riding horses, the wind whipping through their hair, racing across the ground faster than they ever could’ve alone.

Now he did.

He was out of that disgusting tower and Hawke was safe and that was it, wasn’t it? All he needed, even if he couldn’t stay with her.

They were riding for a few hours, nowhere near their final destination, when Hawke’s head drooped and her horse slowed.

"Hawke?"

She snapped to attention, spluttering that she was fine.

It was well past midnight and he doubted she got her dinner while she was under suspicion of being an abomination. Even he had to admit that with the adrenaline rush fading, he was growing weary. "We can set up camp for the night if you’re tired."

"I'm fine."

That proved to be a lie ten minutes later when she was slumping over the horse's neck again.

"If you fall off that horse and break your neck, your friends are going to be very cross with me."

She sat up, shaking her head. "I just… used a lot of mana."

Yes, it had seemed like she had an endless reserve while she was shooting fire and whipping Templars across the room. But it looked like excessive amounts of magic came with a price. "So we'll stop."

Someone had the foresight to pack two bed rolls, so he laid them out a little ways off the path. By the time he got back from tying up the horses, Hawke had slid the mats next to each other.

She had no respect for his paltry effort at closing himself off from her.

"This doesn't count as your one night." She yawned as she slipped her armour off.

"Oh no?"

"No, this is just sleeping. I want to—I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"You'll have to wait and see.” A tired smile. “The mystery will keep you from wandering away while I sleep.”

He frowned. “I’d never abandon you asleep in the middle of the night in a forest.”

“That’s very specific.” She stretched out on her back, hands tucked behind her head. “Would you abandon me _awake_ in the middle of the night in a forest? Would you abandon me sleeping but in the middle of the day in the forest? Would you-?”

She was teasing, but it only reminded him that he would soon be—not abandoning her, because he told her he was leaving. And she hadn’t argued.

He’d announced his plans for leaving her and she didn’t object and that was enough of an answer for whether she wanted him around or not.

“Sleep, Hawke,” he cut into her irritating rhetorical questions.

She patted the bed roll next to hers expectantly.

"I'll take first watch."

She groaned. "I forgot about keeping watch."

Because she'd been in that blighted Tower for nearly a year and a half.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said in a gentler tone. “Rest.”

She closed her eyes for a moment before looking up at him. "Sit with me until I fall asleep?"

For the first time a question and not an order thinly veiled as a suggestion.

“Of course, Hawke.” His voice was barely louder than a rumble as he lowered himself to the ground.

She settled her head onto his lap. He stroked her hair without a thought. She was asleep within moments.

The sky stretched farther than he could ever see, the whole world wide open to him, but the only place he wanted to be was here on the cold, hard ground with Hawke.

It was a shame he could never hold onto what he wanted for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I do not know the names for medieval-era type clothing/armour. I looked up some stuff and guessed on the rest but the video game isn't set in real history anyway so I figure it's fine.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hold me in this wild, wild, world_  
>  _Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be_  
>  _And in your heat I feel how cold it can get_  
>  _Now draw me close_  
>  Warmth - Bastille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I dunno if any of you have actually been listening to the songs from the chapter summaries, but I HIGHLY recommend listening to 'Warmth' while reading this chapter. It's a great song and fits pretty darn well. Bastille has been a constant soundtrack while writing this fic.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Fenris nudged Hawke awake a few times when her sleepy mutterings turned distressed, but she kept grumbling that she was fine and rolling over to return to sleep. She’d been asleep for a few hours when Fenris did a perimeter check, Hawke just out of his sight, and she started screaming like a wolf had sunk its teeth into her leg.

He sprinted back to her, sword swinging, but she was alone on the bed roll.

He shook her shoulder and she shot to a sitting position, nearly knocking her forehead off his.

“Hawke?”

She’d never screamed like that in the Circle.

She pushed her damp bangs out of her wide eyes. “Sorry, I-” She took a deep breath to settle her harried breathing. “I guess all this trauma I’ve been vigorously repressing decided to come for me in my dreams.”

She looked at him and smiled, a little wobbly at the edges. “I guess I’ll take watch now.”

He shook his head but she leapt to her feet.

When she got a good look at the forest, not deep in inky shadows but grey with the first hint of sunrise, she narrowed her eyes. “So when you said you’d take first watch, you meant you’d stay up all night without rest?”

“You were tired-”

“And you, the model of masculinity and stoicism that you are, don’t need sleep?” she asked dryly.

He scowled. He certainly wasn’t going to mention the exhaustion pulsing behind his eyelids now. “No.”

She stared at him another minute, brows raised, waiting for him to change his mind. When he didn’t, she started tugging her armour back on. “Okay, back on the horses, then.”

He regretted it immediately but kept his mouth shut. His thighs burned from the ride last night and every thump across uneven terrain rattled his brain with an exhaustion headache.

Hawke tossed a look over her shoulder and laughed. “We can rest, Fen.”

“No,” he grunted, just as stubborn as her.

Her eyes lit with a challenge. “Then let’s race.”

She spurred her horse to a gallop and he had no choice but to follow.

\--

The sun was a golden circle just above the treetops by the time they reached the isolated cabin in the hills. It was a small, circular affair, thatch-roofed and tucked away behind a cluster of pine trees.

Fenris relieved the horses of their saddles while Hawke did a perimeter check. He’d have done that himself, but he wouldn’t have been very perceptive yawning every five seconds.

He was psyching himself up to stay awake for the day. He might need a cold creek to jump into, but he could make it. He wasn’t about to spend his last day with Hawke _asleep_.

He was sitting on the bed, convincing his legs to bring himself to a standing position, when Hawke returned.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I find it easier to sleep without sharp pieces of metal encasing my body.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sleeping.”

“Because you’ve still got your armour on.” She reached for the strap of his breast plate and he slapped her away. “See, I knew you’d be grumpy exhausted.”

Undeterred, she went for the strap again and he gave in. She was right; he was exhausted. She slid off his gauntlets and vambraces and pushed him back on the bed. “Isn’t that better?”

He groaned, the horizontal position dragging him to sleep faster than he expected. He barely heard her nattering on about fetching water from a stream and brushing the horses and whatever else she planned to do. The last thing he took in before he blacked out was the press of her lips against his forehead.

He was in a dead sleep until he awoke to something snuggling into his side. “Wha-?”

Hawke threw an arm across his stomach. “Four hours on the ground, surprisingly, did not make for a rewarding sleep. I set up a protective ward. Goodnight.”

She closed her eyes, laid her head on his chest, and that was it. She was asleep. The bed was barely wider than the one in the Circle, and he didn’t even want to consider what might have occurred on this hay-filled mattress in the middle of nowhere, but they were together, and finally safe, and fairly comfortable.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drifted back to sleep.

\--

He awoke to an ache in his stomach. He groaned, anxiety flaring at the absence of warmth at his side until he caught sight of Hawke sitting at the rickety table across from the hearth. A table, a hearth, one chair, and a bed. He hadn’t taken much in last night—this morning, really—but that’s all there was to the little cabin. It was still more spacious than their room in the Circle.

“There he is.” A saddlebag sat open on the table, a smaller bag of food spilling out of it. Hawke’s mouth was stuffed. “We slept all day.”

“What?” He sat up and looked out the window. The sun was glaringly bright, descending back behind the trees. “Shit.”

“That just leaves us all night, then.”

“To talk?”

She pulled a face. “No, we have to celebrate first.”

She scooped the bag of food off the table and set it on the mattress.

“Celebrate?”

“We’re free!” She settled in across from him, crossing her legs underneath herself.

“Yes, but…” He remembered her broken expression before they left the tower, half a dozen mages dead on the floor as the sounds of fighting on the upper level showed no signs of stopping. Celebration certainly hadn’t been on her mind then. “You said you wanted to talk. All those mages-”

She gulped down the food she already had in her mouth and stretched across the bed to silence his mouth with her own. The kiss was hard and hot and came with an order as clear as if she’d spoken: _Shut up_.

She picked up a loaf of bread and eyed his sword, leaning by the door next to her staff. “Think that could slice bread?”

He dug around in the food bag for a moment before pulling out a dagger.

“Maker bless Aveline and her endless forethought.” Hawke sliced herself a thick piece of bread, cut off a hunk of cheese to top it, and then held a fiery palm over top to melt it. She took a bite and then held it out to him. He couldn’t hold back the loud grumble his stomach gave.

So he took a bite and he couldn’t hold back his groan, either. He didn’t know whether it was because he was starving or compared to the garbage he’d had in the Circle anything would have tasted good, but he swore it was the best thing he’d ever eaten.

A smile curled at Hawke’s lips as she made herself another one. “So. Celebrating?”

He was downing the bread as ravenously as Hawke usually did, but he managed to mumble, “Not a true celebration without wine.”

She arched a brow. “Who said we don’t have wine?”

She lifted what he’d assumed was a waterskin and uncorked it with her teeth. The heady bouquet of fermented grapes hit him instantly.

She laughed at his rapturous expression. She passed it off to him, saying, “Big swords and wine. I’ve got you all figured out.”

And of course there was more to him than weapons and alcohol, but she did know him, better than anybody else. He hadn’t expected or wanted her companionship, but she’d crawled into his heart anyway, and every reminder that he’d be leaving in the morning hit him like a blow.

So he allowed himself this celebration. They relaxed on the bed, ate through the food that was supposed to last them a week, and drank wine. Oh, did Fenris miss wine.

He gulped down the last drops and Hawke dropped a kiss on his throat. “Greedy.”

“You had some.” He cleared his throat, dismissing the low growl that he couldn't help when Hawke was looking at him like that.

He caught the glimmer of her eye roll in the light of the fire. Night had fallen completely as they ate and this abandoned cabin in the woods started to feel cozy and small, just for them. Though maybe that had more to do with the wine.

But there _was_ just one bed for the two of them. “Did you really tell your friends that we had sex but not mention my history?”

She frowned. “That wasn’t my story to tell, was it? And I didn’t tell them we had sex, either.”

“And yet they gave us only one bed?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, well I told _Varric_ ,” she said like it was obvious.

“The storyteller? Wouldn’t he have told the rest?”

“I think they figured it out anyway when you popped a boner seeing me in my armour.”

He didn’t hide the grin at the memory.

She raised a brow, fingers tripping over his chest.

He was supposed to be closing himself off, he suddenly recalled. Having sex would not be conducive to that.

Though neither was napping together or lying in bed drinking wine.

Hawke kissed up his neck to his jaw. “Mm, I know that look.”

Just as he recognized the look on her face. Hooded eyes hiding a spark of mischief, lips quirked into a smirk… the warmth of her entire body pressed up against his side.

One more night, right? One more night to be with her. To say goodbye.

Fenris slid his palm along her jaw and kissed her.

She grinned against his lips in triumph. She crawled atop him, calves closing in on either side of his thighs. Her face hung above him, close like nothing existed but for the two of them.

They shed the clothes that just last night they’d been so impatient to put on. His hands travelled over newly exposed skin, memorizing every divot and curve. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and her neck and groaned in her ear when she sunk onto him.

Her nails raked across his chest, making him buck into her as she ground down. She was allowed to be as loud as she wanted, and she took full advantage, moaning and gasping as she rocked her hips, slow and steady. 

When they finished, she collapsed onto his chest like a sweaty, breathing shield.

Once their panting slowed, she muttered into his neck, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His fingers stalled in their glide along the curve of her spine. “I don’t believe that.”

A huff of laughter escaped her. She settled in more comfortably, stretched out beside him on the mattress.

He savoured every moment, because he knew they were ramping up to be his last. He was dreading leaving her alone in the cabin, but she’d proved more than capable of defending herself. Against the Templars, against Bryant, against Cullen.

She’d be _fine_.

Her fingers found their way to his hair, softly stroking his scalp.

But would he be fine?

Of course. He was always fine, as long as he wasn’t locked up or enslaved. He had a very high tolerance for what he considered “fine”.

He wouldn’t be happy, but since the closest he’d ever got to happiness was inside the Circle, maybe he’d twisted the concept into something ugly and unrecognizable.

He started to sit up. “I should go.”

“Um. _No_. I said a night. A whole night. It’s not morning.”

Fuck. Fuck, she really wanted him to stay. _Fuck_.

“I really should-”

“I haven’t talked to you yet,” she said like that was the end of his argument.

“Okay.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You want to talk about what happened, right? The mages?”

“No.” She sat up, the thin bedsheet half-covering her chest. “I wanted to tell you that you wouldn’t—if you were to stick around—you wouldn’t have to return to the Circle with me if you’d rather not. I know your feelings on mages are mixed at best, and I wouldn’t force you to set a bunch of mages free.” She ducked her head. “If there are any left by the time I get back.”

Fenris could give her no reassurances. He couldn’t even offer his aid, because the Circle was exactly where Danarius expected him to be. He laid a hand on her elbow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook him off. “No. I wanna burn the place to the ground and forget any of it ever happened.”

He pressed his lips together. “Hawke, you’re already having nightmares about it.”

She slid out of bed and picked through their discarded clothing. “What do you want me to say? You were there. You know what happened. You know how pissed I am.”

He sat up straighter. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, but if you’re making me talk about this, I wanna be dressed.”

“You don’t have to-”

It seemed like she wanted to.

“Like, we escaped and that’s great but I’m still pissed that I was even there in the first place.” Hawke shoved a leg into her pants and hopped around, scowling, as she got her other leg in and pulled them up her waist. “I want to go right back to saving Kirkwall but how am I supposed to do that now that I’m a wanted apostate who killed a bunch of Templars? And that _bastard’s_ dead but that doesn’t mean none of it happened.”

She snatched her shirt off the floor and pulled it over her head. “And Anders fucked up and mages are dead but I don’t want to be pissed at him. _He_ didn’t kill them. I don’t wanna be mad at any of my friends. I just got them back. But that’s not stopping me from being a raging ball of fury.” She whipped something at his chest. “And I don’t wanna be mad at _you_ but I am!”

It took him a second to realize what she threw at him were his pants, and his confusion slowed her words from filtering through his brain. After a pause, he said, “Wait, _me_? What did I do?”

“You’re leaving!”

He stared at her. “Danarius is coming for me.”

“So?”

“ _So_?” He suddenly understood her desire for clothes. Arguing naked felt more than a little ridiculous. He stepped into his pants. “If he catches me he’ll drag me back to slavery.”

She spread her hands. “If you stay with me he’ll never catch you.”

“If I stay with you,” he countered quietly, “I’m putting you in his line of fire.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Fenris.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “I’ve fought dragons and darkspawn and—and giant spiders. You think I can’t handle a mage with a superiority complex?”

Had she listened to nothing he said of Danarius? He had countless magisters at his disposal, endless resources, and he was ruthless with his power. He’d burned these tattoos into Fenris’ skin and used him as a toy, a puppet for his bidding. Running was the only reasonable reaction to discovering Danarius knew his whereabouts.

Especially after just escaping that prison of a Circle. Fenris could barely breathe at the thought of being trapped again by his original jailer.

He shook his head sharply. “You don’t know him.”

“So tell me, tell us. We’ll strategize and if he gets anywhere near you we’ll kill him. But don’t use this as an excuse to fuck off.”

“You think running from my slaver is an excuse?” he demanded. “I know you’re raring to return to the Circle, but I refuse to go back to Tevinter. To _him_.”

“You _won’t_ ,” she said slowly, like she was trying to drive the point through his thick skull. “And you don’t have to free the mages with me. So leave if you want to, but don’t give me some shitty reason that I can fix in a second.”

“In a _second_?” He laughed humourlessly. “Hawke-”

She advanced on him. “Don’t fucking laugh at me. If I see a bad guy, I kill him.” Her hands curled into fists. “Nothing’s stopping me now.”

And in the hard set of her jaw, her steady gaze, he saw that there was no talking her out of it. She had every inch of her power back and she was going to make up for lost time.

She said she’d help Fenris defeat Danarius, so the man was as good as dead.

Prolonging the argument would only anger her further and besides, if Danarius was dead… Fenris could stay.

He could stay with Hawke, in this little cabin, or in Kirkwall, or wherever, and he’d be free. Free from the constant fear of Danarius’ return hanging over him like a dark, heaving monster. No longer would he fight off his men like a cornered mutt, or flee a town at the mere mention of Tevinter.

He could live in a world where Danarius didn’t exist.

The sudden fluttering hope in his throat made his, “Okay,” a soft, hushed sound.

“And then,” Hawke rushed on like a wave, not having heard him, “when I have the peace of mind that you won’t be on the run from a slaver for the rest of your life, you can take off if you want to.”

“No.”

“No?” she snapped, still so pissed at the idea of Fenris leaving. Admittedly, his response could have been clearer, but he was seeing the rest of his life spread before him—free, truly free, with no one left to come for him.

And he wanted to spend it in shit-stained Kirkwall. With Hawke.

 “Just let me do this for you. I need you to be safe. I need you-” Her breath hitched sharply. “I need you to not be a fucking idiot about this.”

His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear his words. “I meant that I don’t want to leave you.”

“So don’t!”

He tried and failed to hold back a laugh.

She poked his chest. “ _Fenris_ -”

He caught her hand. “Hawke. I said okay.”

“Okay?” She held his gaze for another moment, hard and demanding, before the tension seeped from her bones. “Oh. Y’know, Aveline is always saying that I can’t yell people into agreeing with me, but I knew she was wrong.”

His lips tugged into a smile. “It’s not hard to convince someone who wants the same as you do. I still don’t think going up against Danarius, or returning to the Circle, for that matter, are the most… sensible ideas, but I welcome your aid and of course offer my own.”

She squeezed his hand, held between their chests. “You want to destroy the Circle?”

He nodded. “I’ve cultivated quite the hatred of Templars.” He considered his words carefully before saying, “And though mages are dangerous, they are not the ones abusing their power in the Circle.”

“That’s quite the change of worldview,” she said. Warm like embers of a lingering fire, where minutes ago she’d been a blistering inferno.

He lifted a shoulder. He still didn’t love the idea of so many mages running around unchecked, but they couldn’t stay trapped under the Templars’ heels like roaches. And he wanted to be there with Hawke when she took on her demons.

“Oh, wait. I’ve got something for this.” She put a hand on her hip. Flashed a grin. “Hey, those are some nice moves you got there. How’d you like to join my merry band of misfits fighting for a safer, less disgusting Kirkwall?”

It took Fenris a second to understand the weird act she was putting on. “You’re asking me to join your crew?”

She slid her arms around his neck. “I like to make it official.”

Fenris tilted his forehead against hers. “Then I suppose I officially accept.”

He felt more than saw her smile as she kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first off I'd like to thank everyone who's left kudos and comments! They mean so much to me, and I'm so glad you've enjoyed my writing!  
> Secondly, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna write a little companion piece to this, from Hawke's POV--some vignettes detailing how she's adjusting to life after the Circle, and some mentions of fighting Danarius, how it goes with destroying the Circle etc. If anybody's interested?? Let me know if there's anything you'd want to be included in the comments!  
> And that's it! Lemme know how you liked it! Thanks for reading!


End file.
